


Hook

by Error401



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Angst, Angst and Humor, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Platonic BaekChen, Platonic ChenSoo, Platonic ChenYeol, Platonic SeChen, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, side taoris - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 51,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8788060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Error401/pseuds/Error401
Summary: For the most trivial courtesy in the universe, Jongdae finds his kindness returned with bullets. He's never doing anyone a favor ever again.





	1. Chapter 1

Jongdae sighed, resting his head in his hand as he stared blankly over the counter.

Normally, he would be reading his textbook for tomorrow’s class, but he’d forgotten it at his apartment in his haste to make it to work on time. Now he had nothing to do but stare at the stocked shelves, bright lights, and the few people still wandering around so early in the morning as they passed the clear glass of the storefront.

Humming under his breath, he let himself zone out for a moment, mentally cataloguing the things he still had to do for the week. Finish writing that Medieval History paper. Study for next week’s Psychology quiz. Reserve a music room to practice his vocal performance. Figure out what to buy Chanyeol for his birthday in a few weeks. Remember to check in with the kids to make sure they were still alive and hadn’t drunk themselves to death. Give Baekhyun another scathing lecture about responsibility.

He glanced up as the door slid open, straightening his back and offering a polite, practiced smile to the man in the suit who’d stumbled in on shaky legs. He would have been handsome if he weren’t so sweaty and red-faced, his white shirt soaked through under his unbuttoned blazer.

Jongdae set his mouth in a thin line even as his forehead furrowed in concern. He looked away. “Stop caring so much. Stop caring so much. Stop caring so much,” he repeated like a mantra under his breath.

The man staggered for a moment before disappearing behind a shelf.

A few seconds later and he’d already staggered back, a bottle of hangover medicine and an energy drink slammed down on the counter in front of Jongdae. Jongdae hurriedly scanned the items, avoiding eye contact as he read the total. “12,500 won, please,” he said.

The man grumbled as he patted around his pockets until he managed to locate a credit card. Jongdae managed to snag it just as it fell out of the man’s fingers. Huffing in relief, Jongdae swiped the credit card himself.

_Denied._

“Umm, sir, I’m sorry, but it says that your card was denied,” Jongdae said, holding the card in front of him with both hands. “Do you…perhaps…have some other card or cash…?” Jongdae asked hesitantly. He felt bad for the guy.

“What the heck,” the man muttered, fumbling around through his pockets again and coming out empty-handed. He stared at Jongdae despondently. “No, I guess not…” he sighed, words slurring together at the end. Because he was close to Jongdae’s height, when he hunched his shoulders in disappointment, it almost made him seem small.  

“Oh,” Jongdae said, fingers curling into fists. _Stop caring so much. Stop caring so much!_ “How about…I just…” Jongdae sighed, pulling his own wallet from his back pocket. “You look like you need it, so…” He quickly bagged the two items, pushing the small bag towards the man.

“Thanks…” the man said, voice despondent as he pulled it from the counter. “I…” he shook his head. “Thanks.”

Jongdae nodded curtly, offering his trademarked polite smile as the man dragged himself from the store.

“Idiot,” Jongdae sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead. He needed that money.

A snicker startled Jongdae from his self pity. “Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say about someone.”

A man had slipped inside the doors while Jongdae had been distracted with the drunk. Jongdae flushed. “I wasn’t—“

“No worries,” the man said lazily, throwing a disinterested hand in the air.

Jongdae sighed again, eyes tracing the man as he meandered around the candy and cup noodles stocked near the front. He looked around Jongdae’s age, with dyed blonde hair and a tattered leather jacket clinging tightly to his frame. He was good looking, and with the way he carried himself, he probably knew it.

“Will you buy this for me?” the man asked suddenly, grabbing an instant ramen package from the shelves and waving it at Jongdae.

“Wh-what?” Jongdae spluttered. “No! I mean…can you really not afford it?” he asked hesitantly.

“Aw,” the man said, lopsided grin revealing a spectacular dimple. “You would have really paid for it, wouldn’t you?” Jongdae made a choking noise. He really would have. Idiot.

He sauntered up to the counter and slapped a fifty thousand won note on its surface. Jongdae stared at it. “Keep the change,” the man grinned, walking out with his ramen.

“Wait, I have to ring that--!” Jongdae tried, but the man was already gone.

He looked down at the large note, breaking it with the change left in the register and putting in the two thousand won for the ramen. He didn’t know what to do with the leftover money. Who on earth just gave away fifty thousand won for _instant ramen_? It felt wrong, dirty even, to think of pocketing it. He made a mental note to donate it to the next church he passed.

He paused, catching himself.

“Stop caring so much, Kim Jongdae!”

What a strange night.

 

/////////////////

 

“ _Jongdae_!”

“Huh? What? I’m awake!” Jongdae spluttered, nearly rolling out of bed in his haste to get up.

“Right,” Kyungsoo said bluntly. “You have class in half an hour.”

Eyes widening, Jongdae turned to the clock next to his bed and gasped. What was with him lately? He was never late. Never! Was this some kind of karma for trying to be less nice to people? “Thanks, Soo!” he said, rushing to his closet and throwing on the first things he could lay hands on. He scrambled into the bathroom and combed his hair while simultaneously brushing his teeth, starting to sweat from the stress.

On his way out the door, Kyungsoo thrust a full travel mug into his hands.

“Thanks,” Jongdae said, slowing down a little to convey his appreciation. “Really, Soo—“

“Ten minutes,” Kyungsoo said.

Jongdae booked it.

He was still five minutes late to the lecture, skulking into one of the back-row seats, but the lecture hall was so large that he doubted anyone besides the few people near the door even noticed.

He glanced at the lecture slides being displayed on a gigantic screen at the front center of the room. “Narcissistic Personality Disorder,” the first one read, and Jongdae sighed in relief. Personality disorders. He knew about those. He didn’t miss anything, after all.

Jongdae wasn’t a Psychology major, but he’d always found the subject interesting. It wasn’t very difficult to learn, and it never hurt to know more about how people’s brains worked, because then you could get them to do what you wanted. That was the idea, anyway. Jongdae couldn’t bring himself to actually try.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and Jongdae pulled it out to read it under the lecture table.

Fr: Baek

_Lunch????? Y/N?????_

_Y_

Jongdae rolled his eyes.

Fr: Jongdae

_Where?_

 

Fr: Baek

_Yeol brought leftovers yest. Our place?_

Fr: Jongdae

_K_

He would never pass up greasy Chinese food, especially when it was free.

 

Baekhyun was always…a little too much for Jongdae. While he was glad they were friends, he was often just as glad that they were no longer roommates. He kept Jongdae young, but gave him grey hairs at the same time. Baekhyun had definitely found a more suitable roommate in Chanyeol. He was willing to go along with whatever Baekhyun wanted, and he seemed to have an unearthly tolerance for whining. They’d moved to an apartment near but off campus because Chanyeol was too tall to fit comfortably inside student housing.

 

“Remember, quiz next week!” the professor announced, students flipping notebooks closed and shutting laptop lids.

 

Jongdae looked down at his notebook, startled to see he had written exactly nothing.

 

The person in the seat next to him dropped their book with a startled squeak, and Jongdae leaned down hurriedly to pick it up. Still in a half daze, he hit the back of his head against the table top on the way back up. “Ouch,” he grumbled, rubbing at the back of his head as he handed the book back with a smile.

 

“Are…are you okay?” the other student asked, concern in his voice.

 

“I’m fine, just an idiot,” Jongdae replied, smile more sincere this time even as his skull radiated with pain.

 

“Hey, do you…maybe, want to copy my notes?” he offered, almond eyes sparkling. “You came in late, and then you didn’t write anything down, so I figured maybe something was up.”

 

Jongdae stared, surprised. “Would that be okay?” he wondered. “I don’t want to put you out, or anything.”

 

“Oh, it’s completely fine!” he said happily. “This is my only class today, anyway.”

 

“Thank you, ugh…” Jongdae said, looking at him expectantly.

 

“Minseok,” the student proffered. “I’m actually a grad student, but they let us get away with taking an easy elective to avoid complete brain melt.”

 

“You look even younger than me!” Jongdae said, surprised, immediately making his language more formal. “I’m Jongdae. Kim Jongdae. Well, really, thank you. If you don’t mind, I can just copy these quickly at the library and give them back to you.”

 

“Of course,” Minseok smiled, his grin childish and endearing.

 

They left the building together, Jongdae holding Minseok’s notebook to his chest like it was treasure and Minseok smiling happily at nothing. “So, why were you late today?” Minseok asked, reaching out to push a strand of Jongdae’s hair back in place.

 

“I’m honestly not sure,” Jongdae admitted, quirking his brow at the unusually familiar gesture. “I worked late, I mean—early—today, but I usually always do, and I’ve never woken up late before. I guess it’s just bad luck this time.”

 

“But you met me, so is it really?” Minseok joked.

 

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” Jongdae smiled wryly.

 

Jongdae copied the notes quickly with the library scanner, emailing them to his school account as he offered Minseok’s notebook back with both hands. “Again, thank you so much. I don’t know where my head was at today.”

 

“Hey, no problem! I’m happy to help after you practically gave yourself a concussion!” he laughed, cheeks rosy.

 

“Hey,” Jongdae said, tilting his head in consideration. “I know you said you only have one class today, but are you busy right now?”

 

“I’m free as a bird! Why?” Minseok asked.

 

“Do you like Chinese food?”

 

 

/////////////////

 

 

“Put the chicken down, Chanyeol!” Baekhyun shrieked, holding his chopsticks like a weapon as he circled the couch, with Chanyeol mirroring his movements on the other side.

 

“I’m the one who brought the food, so I can eat what I want!” Chanyeol growled back, petulantly stuffing his cheeks with the meat.

 

“I hate you! Stupid, big-eared—“

 

“I brought a guest,” Jongdae interrupted, shaking his head as he closed the door behind himself and Minseok. Jongin and Sehun were watching the show from the living room carpet, and Kyungsoo was leaning against the kitchen doorframe, the corner of his mouth subtly turned upwards. Jongdae had gotten much better at reading his moods, even with the slightest twitch of an eyebrow.

 

“Minseok, these are my…friends,” Jongdae sighed, watching with embarrassment as Baekhyun vaulted over the couch and clung to Chanyeol, reaching futilely for the takeout box.

 

“Hello!” Minseok waved, not put off in the slightest.

 

“There’s more food in the kitchen,” Kyungsoo said, baritone voice filling the room in a way that even Baekhyun’s screaming couldn’t.   

 

“This is Kyungsoo,” Jongdae said, leading Minseok into the kitchen. “Kyungsoo, this is Minseok from my Psychology class. He’s older than us.”

 

Kyungsoo dipped his head in greeting, but said nothing otherwise, eyes following Baekhyun and Chanyeol’s battle. He never spoke much around people he didn’t know well.

 

Jongdae grabbed the nearest container, which happened to be filled with fried rice, sticking it into the microwave.

 

“Wow, so much food!” Minseok marveled at the full table.

 

“Chanyeol works at a Chinese chain restaurant that clears itself out every Thursday night. Everyone else who works there is sick of the food and the potential for food poisoning, so Chanyeol just takes it all.” Jongdae explained, as Minseok peered into the containers.

 

“I’m going to kill you!” Baekhyun screamed from the living room.

 

“Should we be worried about that?” Minseok questioned.

 

“No,” Jongdae said. “Baekhyun would never hurt Chanyeol. I’m not actually sure he physically can.”

 

Not that Jongdae was in any place to judge, he was probably even shorter than Baekhyun was. He liked to think his cheekbones had more character, though.

 

“Looks can be deceiving,” Minseok said mysteriously, waggling his eyebrows.

 

Jongdae let out a huff of laughter, glancing at Kyungsoo as he continued to watch the two bickering in the other room. “Believe me, with friends like mine, I am aware.” He pulled his fried rice from the microwave and was about to take his first bite when there was a loud thunk from the living room.

 

“Hyung!” Jongin cried, racing into the kitchen with Sehun hot on his heels. “Baek hyung is bleeding!”

 

“What?!” Jongdae said, turning an accusatory eye on the expressionless Kyungsoo. “Why didn’t you stop them? You were watching!”

 

“Some lessons can only be learned by experience,” Kyungsoo shrugged.

 

Jongdae abandoned his food on the table as he rushed into the living room.

 

“Baek? Baek? Hyung? Are you okay? Where does it hurt?” Chanyeol hovered nervously over Baekhyun, who was sprawled on the couch with a hand over his left temple. “I’m sorry, hyung! Baekhyun hyung! Why aren’t you talking? Baekhyun?”

 

“Because my head hurts, Bigfoot!” Baekhyun grumbled, sitting up slowly and grimacing as his hand came away bloody.

 

“Let me look at it,” Jongdae said, pushing Chanyeol to the side and carefully pushing Baekhyun’s hair from his forehead. It was just a small cut, maybe a few centimeters long, but it was bleeding profusely. “It doesn’t look too bad, but we need to apply pressure.”

 

“Here,” Minseok appeared at Jongdae’s side with a hand towel. Jongdae accepted it gratefully, pressing it to Baekhyun’s head. The latter hissed but held still, raising his own hand to maintain the pressure so that Jongdae could let go.

 

“What happened?” Jongdae asked, unable to prevent glaring at Chanyeol.

 

“I didn’t mean to! He just got tangled and tripped!” Chanyeol whined.

 

“It’s not his fault,” Baekhyun said, wincing as he pressed harder. “Hit the table edge on the way down.”

 

Jongdae just shook his head and shuffled to the bathroom, pulling the first aid kit from under the sink. He set the kit on the coffee table before rifling through its contents, pulling out gauze and surgical tape as well as medicated ointment. He turned to Chanyeol.

 

“Yeol, make sure he keeps pressure on that for a few minutes. If it’s stopped bleeding or looks like it’s clotting, tape his head. If it’s still bleeding, come get me. Okay?” Jongdae said patiently.

 

“Kay,” Chanyeol mumbled, gingerly sitting next to Baekhyun on the couch and staring at him pensively.

 

Jongdae nodded and returned to the kitchen, only to find Jongin and Sehun eating the rice he’d heated up. “Really?” he frowned, picking up another container at random and sticking it in the microwave.

 

“Sorry, hyung,” Sehun said sheepishly. “We were hungry.”

 

“What good are you if you won’t even let me eat?” Jongdae muttered in mock outrage. “Oh, it’s fine. There’s plenty left.”

 

“Hmm,” Minseok said, eyeing Jongdae with an interested grin. “Everyone comes to you in an emergency.”

 

Jongdae sighed. “I’m the mom friend. Against my will. They would probably die if I didn’t at least try to patch them up.”

 

“You ran out of here awful fast for it to be against your will,” Minseok said.

 

Jongdae shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention.

 

“Jongdae hyung,” Kyungsoo said. “You have class in half an hour.”

 

“What? Already?” Jongdae whined. He sighed, rubbing his hand over his forehead. “Okay. Soo, make sure Baekhyun doesn’t bleed to death, alright?”

 

He shouldered his school bag and nodded to Minseok. “Sorry about this. I didn’t realize the time. I don’t mean to abandon you.”

 

“Oh, I think I can keep myself entertained,” Minseok smiled. “But, aren’t you going to eat?”

 

“I’ll grab something later,” Jongdae waved it off. “I’ll see you in class, Minseok-ssi.”

 

He steadfastly ignored the puppy eyes that Chanyeol was sending him from the couch, rushing out the door in a hurry to get back to campus on time. Just one thing thrown off in his day, and everything else was following suit. It was a guarantee that he would never be late again.

 

 

/////////////

 

 

Jongdae was late again.

 

He burst into the convenience store with no air in his lungs and sweat-slicked hair plastered to his forehead. His coworker barely gave him time to inhale before she pulled her vest off and pushed past him. “Sor—“ Jongdae tried, but she was already gone.

 

“Ugh,” Jongdae groaned, shuffling behind the counter and shrugging the uniform vest on over his clothes, pushing his backpack next to his feet.

 

“I was wondering when you would get here,” someone said, and Jongdae jumped, startled, putting a hand over his chest. “I’ve been waiting here forever. I have better things to do, you know.”

 

He looked around frantically before spotting the same man from yesterday, the one with the leather jacket, step out from behind a shelf. His blonde hair was neatly styled, and his clothing was much more formal. Jongdae had to wonder what, exactly, he did for a living.   

 

“You…were waiting for me?” Jongdae said incredulously. “ _Why_? Actually, how did you know I’d be here tonight?”

 

“I asked your manager,” the man shrugged.

 

“He’s not legally allowed to tell you that! And again, why would you do that?” Jongdae said suspiciously.

 

“Hey, I don’t have any ill intent,” the man said, putting his hands in the air defensively. “I was just curious.”

 

“About?” Jongdae pressed.

 

“What he’s going to do,” the man said.

 

Jongdae stared at him blankly. He was running off of caffeine and desperation, and he didn’t want to deal with any suspicious characters when he had homework to do. “Okay, I’m not going to pretend I have any idea what you’re talking about, but I also don’t really care that much.” He sighed, wiping at his forehead with the back of his arm. “Oh, but, hold on—“ Jongdae said, reaching into his bag. “Here,” he pulled out the money the man had overpaid last night.

 

“Are you seriously giving that back to me?” the man said, approaching the counter.

 

“Of course I am! It’s not mine!” Jongdae said, almost offended.

 

“Well, I don’t want it back, either!” the man said.

 

“That’s not my problem!” Jongdae said, holding the money out.

 

“I’d say it is.”

 

“Look, just take the money and go away, would you!” Jongdae said, shaking his hands for emphasis.

 

The man took hold of Jongdae’s wrist and attempted to shove the handful of bills back in his direction, but Jongdae stubbornly resisted. “Stop it!” Jongdae huffed, becoming slightly concerned at how strong the man’s grip was.

 

One moment, the man was laughing in his face, and the next, he was being tackled to the ground by a blur in a business suit.

 

Jongdae stared, frozen, as the two figures rolled around on the laminate floor in front of the counter.

 

“Call the police!” the man in the suit said, trying to wrestle the first man’s arms behind his back.

 

“What the hell?” the first man said, using his legs to buck the suited man off of him. He threw a punch, and then they were rolling around again, limbs flying.

 

“Hey!” Jongdae said, heart seizing. “Hey, stop it!”

 

They didn’t listen.

 

It was clear that both of them had some kind of defense or martial arts training, because while they continued to maneuver, neither one of them was gaining an upper hand. It was a lot of twisting and turning and grunted expletives.

 

“Yah!” Jongdae screamed, hopping the counter. “What the hell are you doing?!”

 

“Joonmyun, fucking—!” the blonde man yelled. “It’s Yixing, you **shǎzi!”**

“Huh?” the man in the suit paused, narrowing his eyes. “Yixing?”

 

“Yeah, Yixing!” the man rolled his eyes, pushing the man in the suit off of him.

 

“Oh,” Joonmyun blinked. “Yixing, why were you robbing this store?”

 

“I wasn’t robbing the store, you—“

 

“Would you both please get off the floor?” Jongdae sighed, trying to calm his pounding heart.

 

“Oh!” Joonmyun said, cheeks flushing as he scrambled onto his feet. “I…I’m sorry, I…I guess I misunderstood. I just…he was trying to take your money, and—“

 

“No, I was trying to get him to keep the money!” Yixing said, climbing to his feet with a groan. “Because you were so drunk yesterday that you let this college student buy your drink for you! You’re just as much of a loser as I thought you’d be.”

 

“I…” Joonmyun sighed. “I barely remember last night.” He pulled his phone from his trouser pocket, fiddling with it before he turned the screen towards Jongdae. Jongdae was confused before he realized that it was a blurry picture taken of him through the glass of the storefront, the store’s name and logo emblazoned on the door. “I found this in my phone. I guess drunk me at least remembered that he wanted to pay you back.”

 

“That’s…nice?” Jongdae said, still a little overwhelmed at what was going on. Remembering his original goal, he approached Yixing intently.

 

“Wha—“ Yixing began, but before he could react, Jongdae had stuffed the handful of bills down the front of his shirt.

 

“Now it’s your problem again,” Jongdae shrugged.

                                 

Yixing stared, wide-eyed.

 

“Now, would you guys leave? I’m working,” Jongdae said, stepping behind the counter again.

 

“Oh, okay, but I was just going to pay you—“ Joonmyun tried.

 

“No,” Jongdae said.

 

“But—“

 

“No,” Jongdae repeated sternly.

 

“Would you just—“

 

“No!” Jongdae said, pulling his history book from his bag and slamming it on the counter.

 

“Drunk me remembers you being much nicer than this,” Joonmyun mumbled.

 

“We have to pay you back,” Yixing said.

 

“Too bad,” Jongdae said petulantly.

 

“Look, we literally _have_ to return the favor!” Yixing said, frustrated. “Why won’t you just take the money?”

 

“Because you made me mad, and now I don’t feel like it,” Jongdae said bluntly. “It’s a few thousand won. Just let it go, and more importantly, _leave_! Unless…you buy something,” he added grudgingly. “And pay the actual amount this time!”

 

“You’re the only person I’ve met in this place who won’t take free money,” Yixing said. “Is there something wrong with your head?”

 

“Yixing!” Joonmyun hissed. “You can’t just say things like that!”

 

“I can do whatever I want, actually,” Yixing shrugged. “Got a problem with that, _partner_?”

 

The sound of shattering glass. Shards exploding over the floor, as chips and soup went flying from the shelves.

 

Jongdae didn’t understand what had happened, until the two men were sprinting behind the counter and shoving Jongdae down to the floor. “That was sooner than I expected,” Yixing said, keeping his hand on Jongdae’s shoulder.

 

“They had a chance, and they took it,” Joonmyun frowned, daring to peer over the edge of the counter.

 

“Are we being _shot at_?” Jongdae said incredulously. “What…what the…” he stuttered, beginning to feel faint.

 

“Oh, shit,” Yixing said, maneuvering Jongdae’s body like it was nothing until he had a clear view of Jongdae’s side. “Graze,” he said, like it was nothing. “Still losing some blood.”

 

Jongdae looked down to follow his line of sight until his eyes hit the bloody gash by the top of his ribs. He hadn’t even felt it. “Oh,” Jongdae said, eyes widening. “That looks like it should hurt more.”

 

“You’re probably a bit in shock,” Joonmyun said, eyes softening as though in concern. “Just hold still, and we’ll get you out of here, okay?”

 

“Someone should really apply pressure to that,” Jongdae said absently, head spinning.

 

Yixing pulled a gun from the back of his waistband.

 

“I have homework,” Jongdae protested, vision beginning to spot.

 

“Yeah, I don’t care,” Yixing said.

 

“We still owe him, Xing,” Joonmyun said calmly.

 

“I hate this,” Yixing complained.

 

“Me too!” Jongdae said.

 

“Well then you should have just taken the money!”

 

It was a circular argument, and Jongdae was getting really tired. Sighing, he rested his head against the inside of the counter, eyes fluttering shut.


	2. Chapter 2

Jongdae’s first thought, as he lurched awake on the backseat of a moving car, was that he couldn’t believe he’d been shot for a measly 12,500 won.

“Hey, hey,” a voice said, and hands were pulling Jongdae back to rest his head against a firm thigh. “Don’t move, we’re taking you to a doctor.”

Jongdae blinked, hit with a sudden, nauseous roiling in his stomach and searing pain in his torso. “Let me out,” Jongdae managed to rasp, jerking forward as he felt the bile rising in his throat.

“Just hang on for a few more—“

“I need to be sick, stop the car!” Jongdae yelled in a panic, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth.

“Xing, pull over!” the voice said from next to him, and the car did stop a few seconds later.

Jongdae wasted no time in pawing at the door latch, yanking it open just in time to throw himself out and fall to his knees, ejecting the meager contents of his already-empty stomach onto the side of a city street. It was mostly bile, as he hadn’t eaten all day, but it still burned his throat and pricked at his eyes. He startled when a hand began rubbing up and down his back, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He felt incredibly weak and light-headed, sweat-soaked and shaking.

Someone had taped a square of cloth over his bullet wound, but he must have lost a significant amount of blood.

“It’s probably the blood loss causing the nausea,” Joonmyun said, mirroring Jongdae’s thoughts. “It was deeper than what Xing originally thought, and by the time we were able to look at it—“

Jongdae heaved in and out, every breath painful due to pulling at the wound. “What happened?” he croaked, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought a wave of dizziness.

“Bad guys tried to kill us. They didn’t. People are cleaning up the mess as we speak, and your store will be in perfect condition in the next few hours. Your replacement will get the explanation that someone threw a rock and shattered the glass. You got hit and had to leave. All nice and neat,” Yixing said, sounding bored as he recited their imaginary scenario. He must have gotten out of the car as Jongdae threw up.

“The money,” Jongdae said, risking sitting up on his heels.

“What?” Joonmyun asked, trying to help steady Jongdae but pausing when he noticed Jongdae’s wince.

“I leant you 12,500 won. Give me the money and we’ll be even,” Jongdae said tiredly. “Right? Isn’t that what you were saying before? Isn’t that how it works?”

“You were hurt because we were both in your store, and you really should see a doctor,” Joonmyun said, eyes wide and sincere. Jongdae didn’t trust it for one second. Why was he ignoring his questions?

“I don’t trust you,” Jongdae said. “Please just end it, whatever _it_ is. Give me what you owe and leave it at that.”

“You complicated things by taking a shot that was meant for us,” Yixing said, almost angry-sounding. “This is entirely _your_ fault.”

Jongdae stared at him uneasily, unable to understand what he was saying. “I didn’t _take_ anything, I just got hit! I don’t understand—” he cut himself off as his stomach twisted again, leaning forward as his body continued to attempt to dry heave his insides onto the cement.

“The rules don’t make a distinction, unlucky for us,” Yixing said.

“Yixing, not now!” Joonmyun hissed, noticing the water pooling in Jongdae’s eyes. “Would you please let us take you to see a doctor? I would swear on anything you wanted that we aren’t trying to do anything bad to you. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Did you take my bag, at least?” Jongdae asked, unsure of why he was suddenly on the verge of tears. “I have homework, and—Kyungsoo must be wondering where I am! What time is it? I have so much to do, I don’t…I don’t have time for this!” Jongdae rambled, struggling to his feet and nearly falling again before catching himself on the side of the luxury car he was being driven in.

“If you miss any homework, a doctor will write you an excuse,” Joonmyun said patiently, hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach out but was forcibly stopping himself. “It won’t take much time, but you need to get checked out.”

“I just want to go home,” Jongdae said, voice cracking as he leaned heavily against the car, wound pulsing with pain. He only closed his eyes for a second, but somehow there was a pair of arms supporting his entire weight as he was gently laid back in the car.

“He’s bleeding again,” Yixing’s more stern voice said, phantom fingers tracing the badly taped dressing. “Dumb kid being difficult…”

“Because he’s a _kid_ , Xing, and he just got hurt! He wouldn’t have even been touched if we hadn’t both been there, and we…at least, _I_ wouldn’t have been there unless he was a good person and helped me out when I brought the wrong wallet with me yesterday. Speaking of, why were you even there tonight in the first place?”

“We should get him to that doctor,” Yixing said, moving to climb into the driver’s seat as Joonmyun sighed and shifted Jongdae slightly so that he could slide into the back with him.

The only thing Jongdae remembered after that was clammy skin, exhaustion, and pain. He’d never felt this badly in his entire life, and it was taking a toll on his ability to think and process what was going on around him.

He was only aware that he was being moved by the flaring pain in his side every time he was jostled, arms grasping his shoulders and more arms supporting his waist.

They stopped moving, and Jongdae was set on top of a cushioned surface, blinking blearily up at a new person who entered his frame of vision.

“What’s his name?” the new figure asked, though it sounded almost muted to Jongdae’s ears.

“Oh, umm…” Joonmyun’s softer voice said. “I don’t know. Yixing?”

No response.

“Okay,” the stranger sighed, and then there were hands on Jongdae’s clothes. “What’s your name, young man?”

“Wha—“ Jongdae struggled feebly, trying to push them off.

“I just want to look at the injury, alright?” the stranger said. “I’m going to have to cut your shirt off, and I need you to stay still. Can you do that for me?”

“Careful,” Jongdae whispered fearfully, trying to focus his gaze on the figure in front of him.

“And your name?” the man pressed.

“Jongdae,” he said hesitantly.

A few snipping noises, and his chest was exposed to the cool air, sending goosebumps rippling over his bare skin.

“What a mess,” the man said, gloved fingertips pressing against Jongae’s skin. Jongdae hissed at the pain, his fingertips scrabbling to clench the material of the cushion he was seated on. “It’ll need stitches. He’s lost a significant amount of blood, but I don’t think it’s remotely life-threatening considering his current functionality. It’s not near the level of shock I normally see in major trauma. He’ll just feel very lethargic and dizzy until he has time to rest.”

“Can you give him something for the pain?” Joonmyun asked, brow furrowed as he took in the massive bruise that had painted itself over Jongdae’s side from the internal bleeding. “And he threw up earlier, if that’s important. Or, I mean, he tried. Nothing much came out.”

“Jongdae, when’s the last time you ate or drank something?” the doctor asked, staring into his eyes.

“Coffee…this morning?” Jongdae said tiredly.

“And an I.V. and sugar, immediately,” the doctor said, turning to address someone else in the room. “Dehydration combined with blood loss is probably why this is affecting him to this extent. Jongdae, are you in pain anywhere else?”

“I don’t know…” Jongdae said tiredly, letting his head fall back against the wall. “It hurts too much to tell.”

“Doctor, the pain?” Joonmyun asked again.

The man sighed. “Because his stomach is already empty, we could sedate him without issue. However, if he wants to take pain meds and stay awake, I can only offer over the counter-level stuff to avoid irritating it even more.”

Jongdae was having a very hard time keeping up with the conversation.

“Knock him out,” Yixing said. “He can eat when he wakes up.”

“Xing, that’s not our deci—“

“He’s tired, in pain, and barely aware. Knock him out, _yisheng_.”

Jongdae agreed, he was tired. But also afraid. He never even felt the prick of the needle.

 

////////////////

 

His eyes were so crusty that it took a moment for Jongdae to crack them open, blinking blearily up at a ridiculously high, arched ceiling.

He tried to push himself up, but found that not only was his hand attached to an I.V. line, but it was also attached to someone else’s.

 

“Joonmyun?” Jongdae rasped, throat dry and sore.

The man jolted awake from where he’d been sleeping on his folded arms, panicked. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I guess,” Jongdae said, looking around the room. He was in a living room, lying on the largest couch he’d ever seen. Light was spilling in from floor-to-ceiling windows. “Tired, still. My stomach and side hurt. Am I at your house?”

“Oh, no, this is just a hotel suite,” Joonmyun said. “Jongdae…I’m a little embarrassed that this is the first time I’m saying your name.”

“That was the first time I said yours,” Jongdae said, suppressing an exhausted yawn. His eyes widened as the realization hit him. “Do you have my phone? What time is it? I…my roommate’s probably going crazy!”

Joonmyun stood from his uncomfortable position on the floor and shuffled into another room, retrieving Jongdae’s backpack.

Jongdae quickly grabbed it, wincing when stretching his arms pulled at the stitches, and dug through its contents until he found his cell phone. “Dead,” Jongdae lamented. “Just like I’m going to be.”

“At least it’s the weekend,” Joonmyun offered uncertainly. “Certainly, you don’t have class today, do you? Is your roommate really so scary?”

“He has his moments,” Jongsaid said dejectedly. “Where’s…your friend?”

“Xing? Oh, he said something about getting food for when you wake up. I told him we could just order room service, but he hates spending the extra money. He even thought we should have just stayed at a motel. He’s ridiculous sometimes,” Joonmyun shook his head, the corner of his mouth turned into a smile.

The conversation drew to an awkward silence, and Jongdae began to squirm under the quilt they’d thrown over him. He didn’t know whose clothes he was wearing, and he didn’t want to know how he’d gotten into them.

“I should go home,” Jongdae said, looking down at the needle piercing the top of his hand.

“What? At least wait to eat something first,” Joonmyun said, looking incredibly offended for what Jongdae had thought was a reasonable comment.

“I’m really…confused,” Jongdae said. “Why do you care?”

“Like I said before, it’s our fault you’re like this!” Joonmyun said, pained. “And we owe you a debt, now. Both of us. Not just me, like it was before.”

“But I’m telling you that you don’t,” Jongdae said. “I just want to forget any of this ever happened.” He coughed, scrunching his face together in pain.

“That’s not…how it works, exactly. Yixing and I…we…it’s very complicated, you see.”

“I really don’t,” Jongdae said.

“Yixing and I come from very old families that run on a very particular set of rules. It is the way things have always been done. Even now, when Xing and I are…changing things. We must still follow the rules. And the rules say that we must take care of you. If you had died, we would have been obligated to take care of your family.”

“But how is that remotely fair to me?” Jongdae said seriously. “I’m not part of your families. I’m not bound by your rules. But you’re forcing me to be.”

Joonmyun looked taken aback, mouth opening and closing as he tried to form an answer. “Jongdae—“

“I brought food!” Yixing yelled, kicking open the door and dropping an armful of plastic grocery bags on the floor. He glanced up, noticing Jongdae and Joonmyun. “You’re awake,” he said dully.

“You sound so happy about it, too,” Jongdae said.

“Jongdae, how old are you?” Joonmyun asked suddenly.

“Why?” Jongdae said, suspicious.

“Simple curiosity,” Joonmyun said, holding his hands in the air defensively.

“Twenty,” Jongdae said, for some reason feeling more than a little self-conscious.

“He really is a baby,” Yixing muttered, tossing a few bags at Joonmyun.

“What? Then how old are you, grandpa?” Jongdae said.

“You don’t need to know,” Yixing shot back.

“But you do need to eat,” Joonmyun said, rifling through one of the bags. “Damn it, Xing! This is all junk food!”

“He’s a kid! He likes it!” Yixing said defensively.

“I’ll take anything at this point, my stomach is eating itself,” Jongdae said, a bit more desperately than he’d intended. “Is there coffee?”

 

///////////////////

 

Jongdae had to be helped to the car. He was still unsteady on his feet, and his side was throbbing. He was just expecting a little bit of support, but Yixing swept him off his feet almost condescendingly. “Don’t get used to it, princess.”

Jongdae was so offended that he failed to come up with a response.

The ride to his apartment was quiet, Jongdae nearly falling asleep again as he leaned his head against the window. “This is the place?” Joonmyun questioned him gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. Jongdae nodded sleepily, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Thank you for the ride,” Jongdae said, climbing out slowly.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Yixing said, rolling down the window. “Can you even make it to your place in one piece?”

“I’ll do my best,” Jongdae said, taking a tentative step forward. He was satisfied when his head didn’t spin and his vision didn’t blur. “Goodbye.”

“Wait!” Joonmyun said.

Jongdae turned to him in question, tilting his head.

“I just…umm…Goodbye, Jongdae.”

“I’m gonna’ watch you walk from here because I don’t think you can make it,” Yixing said.

Jongdae rolled his eyes and sighed. “No offense, but I hope we never meet again.” He did sweat profusely, but he made it inside the building without incident. No matter which way he moved, his side hurt, and he figured he would just have to get used to it.

Stepping in the elevator, he began to worry. Was Kyungsoo worried? How worried would he be? Jongdae hated making people worry.

The second Jongdae stepped into his apartment, he was rushed by a small, angry body. He couldn’t help but scream when Kyungsoo’s arm pressed against the wound in his side, and Kyungsoo immediately let go.

“Jongdae hyung! What’s wrong with you? Where have you _been_? Are you hurt?” he peppered Jongdae with questions and outrage. Without asking for permission, he yanked Jongdae’s borrowed shirt up and gasped when he took in the large bruise and square of gauze.

“Is this the roommate you were worried about?” another unfamiliar voice said, and an extraordinarily tall man approached them where they stood in the entryway. His features were sharp and defined, something serious about the way he held himself. “I guess my job is done, after all.” His eyes then narrowed as they, too, examined Jongdae’s pained state. “Or maybe not.”

“Who…?” Jongdae wondered, looking between Kyungsoo and the tall man.

“Detective Wu,” the man said, nodding. “I was buying coffee when your friend spotted my badge inside my jacket and insisted that you were missing, and even though it hadn’t been forty eight hours, he was sure something bad had happened to you. By the looks of that, he wasn’t wrong. That’s a nasty looking injury.”

“A rock,” Jongdae said quickly.

“A what?” Kyungsoo said, fingers curling into Jongdae’s sleeve.

“At my job, someone…someone threw a rock through the window. It hit me, and I had to go to the hospital. I fell asleep, and then by the time I’d woken up, my phone was dead. Sorry for worrying you, Soo.”

“That is quite a large bruise for a rock,” the detective said, eyes narrowing slightly.

“It was a big rock,” Jongdae shrugged.

“Hyung, I…I can’t believe that something like that would happen! That’s ridiculous! Who throws rocks nowadays?!” He pulled out his phone and began to type. “I have to tell everyone you’re alive, I guess.”

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re okay.” Detective Wu paused for a moment, gears turning behind his eyes. “Wait, you weren’t involved with the Hong convenience store incident last night, were you?”

“Oh,” Jongdae said, surprised. “I…yes, that’s what happened.”

“I see,” Detective Wu said. “And you’re sure it was just a rock that did that? Nothing strange happened other than that?”

“Ugh, no, I mean…” Jongdae waffled. “It happened so fast, and I just…I was passed out for most everything after that.”

Kyungsoo’s phone buzzed, and he glanced down at it. “Chanyeol wants to know if you were abducted by aliens.” He was back to his usual calm demeanor, now that he knew Jongdae was alright.

“Tell him I was,” Jongdae said absently, still in some kind of impromptu staring contest with the detective.

“Well,” the detective said, pursing his lips. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“I guess you will,” Jongdae said.

The detective considered him for another strange moment before nodding to himself. “Mr. Do, Mr. Kim, I’ll see myself out. Take care of that injury, Mr. Kim.”

“Alright,” Jongdae nodded, stepping out of the way of the door.

Jongdae turned to Kyungsoo as soon as the man left. “Did that seem weird to you, too?” Jongdae asked, sighing as he donned his house slippers and shuffled into the kitchen.

“I’m just glad he wasn’t mad at me for trying to report you missing,” Kyungsoo said.

Jongdae looked at Kyungsoo fondly. “You’re the best roommate, you know?”

Kyungsoo nodded. He glanced down at his phone. “Now he’s asking about probes.”

“Tell him I was.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

On Monday, despite the itching pain in his side, Jongdae managed to roll out of bed at his normal time, with enough to spare to take a shower and eat something before he had to go to class. He popped a few aspirin in the hope that it would do something for his side and groaned in complaint as the stitches protested his motion. It felt remarkably nice to get into his routine again, as just a few days of throwing it off hadn’t worked out very well in his favor.

He shoveled down his food, hit hard by the residual effects of the blood loss, his body craving as many calories as it could handle.

“Jongdae hyung?” Kyungsoo called.

“Hmm?” Jongdae called back, mouth full of rice.

“There’s an envelope with your name on it and a check for five million won shoved under the door,” Kyungsoo replied.

“There’s… _what_?” Jongdae said, throwing his bowl into the sink and hurrying to the door, hand clutching his side. “Five million _what?_ ” He’d never seen that much money in one place except on his student loans.

Kyungsoo shrugged, handing Jongdae the envelope.

He quickly peeked inside, spotting the check, and a handwritten note folded next to it.

_I sincerely apologize, Jongdae, but it seems that your employer has had to let you go because of the incident. Please accept this in the meantime. You’ll get one every month, so don’t worry about work anymore and focus on studying. Get well soon._

_Best, Joonmyun_

“What the…” Jongdae said, gaping. Fired and given five million won all at once? More importantly, who just gave five million won away to a person they hadn’t spent more than a few hours conscious with? Exactly how much money did they have to waste? He supposed he should have guessed by the fact that they rented a penthouse suite instead of a normal hotel room. “I can’t believe they’d just…” He looked at Kyungsoo. “Aren’t you going to ask what this is for?”

“No,” Kyungsoo said, shuffling back to his room.

Jongdae looked down at the note and sighed, rubbing the paper of the check uncertainly between his fingers. It didn’t feel right. He hated the idea of using money he didn’t earn, that he didn’t have any right to use. Then again, it would be stupid to turn down that much money. Just…stupid. Right? He sighed again, walking slowly to his room and setting the envelope down on top of his desk. He’d worry about it later.

In the meantime, class. And keeping an eye out for a new job. It wasn’t in his nature to sit still and _not_ work.

The walk to school was more difficult than usual, as he couldn’t find a comfortable way to carry his bag, but like most things, he just grit his teeth and dealt with it.

Jongdae slumped into his seat next to Chanyeol in their musical composition class, unable to stop himself from smiling when he was greeted by Chanyeol’s endearing grin, which quickly morphed into pursed lips and a furrowed brow.

“Hyung, I was worried,” Chanyeol whined, shoulders hunched as he fidgeted in his desk.

“I’m fine, Chanyeol,” Jongdae reassured him, reaching out to pat the top of Chanyeol’s head. It wasn’t comfortable to stretch his arm that far up, but it would make Chanyeol feel better, and that was more important.

Chanyeol had always been too tall and too broad for Jongdae’s liking, but he’d never used his height and strength against anyone smaller than himself. Chanyeol was perpetually a gentle giant when it came to his friends. But despite his greater than average height, his naturally wavy hair, straight nose, and full lips gave him an effortlessly innocent demeanor, especially when complimented by his prominent ears.

“Okay,” Chanyeol said, frowning. “But don’t get hurt again.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jongdae said solemnly.

“Seriously, hyung,” Chanyeol wheedled. “I know you’re tough. I know that. But you’re still…I mean…” Chanyeol trailed off.

“Chanyeol, I’m _fine_ ,” Jongdae said, gently but forcefully.

“Okay, hyung,” Chanyeol said meekly. “Oh, yeah, Baek said he wants to drink tonight to celebrate your safe return!”

“Is that the excuse he’s using?” Jongdae said wryly.

“Well, that, and he challenged Jongin to a dance battle,” Chanyeol smirked, spirits lifting.

“He’s just looking for excuses to embarrass himself, isn’t he?” Jongdae said.

“He likes attention,” Chanyeol shrugged. “Better it’s on him than me.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Jongdae agreed. “But I…I don’t know if I should be drinking, especially after losing blood. You might have to carry me home, afterwards, and then Baekhyun would be jealous.”

“I would still carry you!” Chanyeol insisted, cheeks flushing. “Or Sehunnie. Or Jongin. They would carry you, too, hyung! You should come! You’re lucky I’m letting you out of my sight at all!”

“Oh, fine,” Jongdae sighed. He wasn’t really good at saying no when Chanyeol used _the face_ on him. “Oh, Chanyeol, do you know if your restaurant is hiring?”

“I don’t think so, hyung, they just turned some people away this week,” Chanyeol said, scratching at his chest. “Why?”

“Just…it seems like with what happened, they don’t want me working at the store anymore,” Jongdae shrugged. “So I’m keeping an eye out for another job. Let me know if you see anything, okay?”

“Okay, hyung…but it’s crap that they fired you! It’s not like it was your fault that someone threw a rock at you!” Chanyeol said indignantly.

“Yeah, I know, but what can I do?” Jongdae shook his head.

“Drink?” Chanyeol offered, raising his hand in a mock toast.

“I’m going to regret this.”

 

//////////////////////////

 

Jongdae was regretting this.

He was pretty sure Baekhyun was less than sober even before he showed up to the bar, and three drinks later, he was nearly fighting people out of the way of the karaoke machine, belting loudly into the crowded space.

Kyungsoo barely sipped at his drink, like usual, and Chanyeol had drunk so many glasses that Jongdae had lost count. Jongdae honestly had no idea how Jongin and Sehun got away with drinking like they did, but they always managed it, and then overdid it even more. The only people even trying to drink a moderate amount were himself and Minseok, who was cheering on Baekhyun from their table.

He didn’t know why he’d invited Minseok, but he’d suddenly felt the urge to do so when he and Chanyeol had gotten out of class. He got along with all of Jongdae’s friends, and he seemed like he could use some of his own. He was nice, and Jongdae liked that. It wasn’t hard to find him, as all students used a standard university email with their real names searchable in an index.

“Your cheeks are starting to turn pink, Jongie hyung,” Chanyeol slurred, laughing to himself. “Not too much, remember? Blood is bad!”

“How about you just take care of yourself, skyscraper?” Jongdae scoffed. He pushed a glass of ice at Chanyeol. “Here, drink some water before you pass out!” Chanyeol grudgingly accepted the glass and stumbled from the table to squeeze himself onto the dance floor and watch Baekhyun sing.

“Do I want to know what that means?” Minseok asked curiously.

“Oh, I just…I hurt myself over the weekend, and I lost some blood. It’s not a big deal,” Jongdae said, offering Minseok an awkward smile.

“Not a big deal?” Minseok’s eyes widened. “Blood loss is always a big deal, Jongdae!”

“I guess,” Jongdae shrugged awkwardly. “It was just a really weird weekend, and now…” he sighed. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about depressing things! Tonight was supposed to be fun, and I don’t want to ruin it!”

“You’re more important than a night of fun, Jongdae,” Minseok said sincerely, laying his hand over Jongdae’s where it rested on the table. “Be honest, are you hurt?”

Jongdae felt speechless for a moment as his cheeks flushed. “I…I, umm…I just got some stitches. It’s not really that bad,” he answered, free hand unconsciously moving to rub at his side.  

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Kyungsoo announced, standing up suddenly and pushing his chair away with a loud screech.

“Okay?” Jongdae said, watching as his friend walked away on stiff legs.

“It was bad enough to need stitches?” Minseok said, chewing at his bottom lip. “Jongdae, what happened?”

Maybe it was the alcohol that did it, but Jongdae had already opened his mouth before he even knew what he was saying. “I got shot. I think. I don’t really remember,” Jongdae said.

“You…” Minseok said, mouth opening and closing.

“I…wasn’t supposed to say that. Pretend you didn’t hear anything,” Jongdae said, slapping a hand over his eyes.

“Jongdae—“

“I’m getting another drink,” Jongdae said, stumbling hurriedly from his seat and practically running to the bar. He was an honest idiot, is what he was.

“What can I get you?” the young bartender asked breathlessly, blowing a wisp of hair from his eyes with the corner of his mouth.

“It’s crazy today,” Jongdae said absently, feeling the oppressive heat from so many bodies start to get to him.

“Tell me about it!” the man complained loudly, his words tinged with a slight accent. “I never thought I’d regret being successful, but here we are! And two of my guys flaked today, can you fucking believe that?”

Jongdae focused his gaze in sudden interest. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be looking for another employee, would you?”

The man scrutinized Jongdae for a moment. “You know how to mix drinks?”

“Only a few,” Jongdae admitted, “but I can learn the rest! And more importantly, I’d never flake on you!”

“You’ve got my interest. Come back tomorrow with a resume, kid. Ask for Luhan.”

Jongdae nodded excitedly.

“So, did you want anything, or are you here to waste my time?” Luhan asked, quirking a brow.

“Rum and coke,” Jongdae half-smiled, pushing a few bills onto the bar. “Make it strong, please.”

Jongdae chugged the entirety of his glass before he worked up the courage to head back to his seat. Minseok was oddly quiet as Jongdae sat down, and Kyungsoo still hadn’t returned from wherever he’d gone. Jongdae knew it wasn’t the bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae said, resting his head in hands.

Minseok’s eyes widened. “What for?”

“I didn’t mean to dump that on you,” Jongdae said uneasily. “I understand if…you don’t want to try to be friends anymore.”

“Jongdae, I never wanted to be your friend.”

“Oh…” Jongdae said, hurt.

“Kim Jongdae, I always found an excuse to sit near you in Psychology because I thought you were the cutest thing in that room,” Minseok said. “But you never noticed me! No matter what I did! So, I had to go the subterfuge route and drop my book in front of you.”

“I…” Jongdae blinked, not expecting the sudden confession.

“Exactly, you don’t recognize flirting! I realize that now. So I’m being straightforward with you.”

Jongdae didn’t know what to say.

“I worried about you, even though I never talked to you. You were always so nice and polite and thoughtful, and I wanted to get to know you. I always thought you looked too tired, and you didn’t take good enough care of yourself. And now you’re telling me you were—“ he cut himself off, brow furrowing. “Well, it makes me want to wrap you in bubble wrap!”

“Minseok…hyung…” Jongdae said, flabbergasted.

“Jongdae, would you—“

“Hyung!” Chanyeol practically screamed, latching onto Jongdae’s shoulders. “Baek and Jongin are actually doing it! Come see! Come see!” Jongdae didn’t have much of a choice, as Chanyeol was much stronger than he was, and to be honest, he was glad for the rescue. He had no idea what he would have…what he was going to…

Minseok _liked_ him? _Why_?

“Hyung, are you okay?” Sehun slurred, pulling Jongdae into his chest. “You look sad. Why are you sad?”

“I’m fine, Hun-ah,” Jongdae said, in reflex.

“Did someone hurt your feelings?” Sehun said, running his fingers through Jongdae’s hair as he looked down into his face. He rarely spoke when he was sober, but Sehun turned emotional and talkative when he’d had a few drinks. And touchy. Considering he had near-Chanyeol’s strength, that could get dangerous.

Jongdae was pulled to the left by his bicep, the grip around it firm but not painful. “Stop molesting your hyung, Sehun,” Minseok said, smiling. But not quite a joking smile, more an unsettling one.

“But I wanna’,” Sehun said, reaching for Jongdae again. “His hair is soft.”

“Chanyeolie’s hair is soft, too,” Minseok said, steering Sehun in the right direction.

The hand around his arm immediately released him, and Minseok distanced himself with a respectable amount of space. “I don’t want to make anything awkward, Jongdae. I like hanging out with you. I like your friends. And I don’t expect you to have any answer for me right now. But…as you get to know me, I just want you to keep me in mind, okay? That’s all I’m asking.”

Jongdae found himself nodding. Though, he probably would have done anything to avoid future awkwardness. “Okay, I…I will,” Jongdae said. It’s not like he didn’t like Minseok. Actually, he liked him a lot. He was soft, and nice, and he cared. Jongdae wouldn’t mind giving him a chance. Or maybe that was the rum talking again.

Minseok gasped. “Jongdae, you’re bleeding!”

“I’m…what?” Jongdae stuttered, glancing down to find that his grey shirt was stained with a few red splotches. “Oh,” he said. “I guess I am.”

“That is not an appropriate reaction!” Minseok hissed.

As if he had a trouble radar, Chanyeol appeared at Jongdae’s side. “What’s wrong? Why are you fighting?”

“He’s bleeding!” Minseok said loudly over the noise, pointing at Jongdae’s chest.

“ _What_?! Hyung! Hyung! What do we do?!” Chanyeol panicked, drunkenly swinging his arms around. “Hospital?”

“This isn’t bad enough for a hospital,” Jongdae sighed, waving him off. “I’ll just go clean up in the bathroom, okay?”

“I’ll take him,” Minseok volunteered. “You just try and sober up a bit in case we actually have to go. Okay, Chanyeol?”

“O…kay…” Chanyeol said, eyes watering.

“We won’t, Yeol,” Jongdae tried to comfort him, but Minseok had a hold of his hand and was pulling him towards the restrooms in the back.

There were a few people stumbling around inside, but Minseok didn’t pay them any mind, practically lifting Jongdae onto the sink counter. “You’re my size!” Jongdae said accusatorily. “Why are you so strong?” Jongdae blinked, vision unfocusing for a moment.

“There’s this modern invention called the gym,” Minseok said, pulling paper towels from the dispenser and running them under the water. “And you weigh like fifty kilos, Jongdae.”

“That is _not_ true!” Jongdae insisted.

“What, fifty four?” Minseok said, sizing him up.

“Shut up,” Jongdae mumbled, face very warm all of a sudden.

“Did you knock back a few when I wasn’t looking?” Minseok said, steadying Jongdae as he began to list to the side.

“Maybe,” Jongdae chuckled.

“Great,” Minseok sighed. “Jongdae, I’m…I’m going to have to take your shirt off, alright? Not all the way, just to lift it up. I swear it’s not for any gross reasons, but I need to see where you’re bleeding. Is that okay?”

“Okay,” Jongdae agreed. “Why not? So many people have seen it lately. Might as well do another free show.”

Minseok gave him a strange look before carefully peeling his shirt away from his skin and up to his neckline. “Jongdae, this looks awful,” Minseok said, biting his bottom lip as he took in the greenish purple bruising and large stripe of scabbed flesh. “I think you busted a few stitches, but it’s really hard to tell with all this.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Jongdae mumbled. “Barely even hurts, so—“

“Yeah, I think that’s the alcohol talking,” Minseok sighed. “It’s going to hurt a lot tomorrow.” He reached out to dab carefully at the crusting blood with the paper towels. “You’re just skin and bones, Jongdae!”

The door slammed open, making both Jongdae and Minseok jump at the noise.

“Chanyeol said Jongdae was bleeding,” Kyungsoo said, eyes blazing intensely.

“I am, I guess,” Jongdae said. “Not a big deal.”

“Our definitions of big deal are very different!” Minseok said, frustrated.

“Home?” Kyungsoo asked, directing his question to Jongdae.

Jongdae nodded balefully.

“Jongin!” Kyungsoo grunted, and the taller boy appeared, looking uncharacteristically anxious. He normally carried himself with ease and strength, but his shoulders were hunched with uncertainty, making him look shorter than his tall height. “Piggyback,” he pointed at Jongdae.

“You can’t have him carried when his injury is going to be rubbing up against another surface!” Minseok protested.

“I can walk,” Jongdae said brokenly, sliding from the counter. He had to quickly grab Minseok’s shoulder for support.

“That’s pretty much our only option,” he said, shooting a challenging look at Kyungsoo. “Unless you have a better idea?”

“Taxi,” Kyungsoo said immediately. “I’ll call one for us. Keep any eye on him. _Only_ an eye,” he added sternly. Jongin followed him out.

Jongdae sighed. “When did I become the needy friend?”

“When you got shot,” Minseok said, crossing his arms over his chest. “They don’t know what really happened, do they?”

“If they did, they wouldn’t let me outside,” Jongdae said, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Please don’t tell them.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Minseok said. “But then, why did you tell me?”

“Maybe it’s just easier to talk to someone you don’t know as well,” Jongdae said quietly. “Maybe I just…I don’t know. Thought I could trust you.”

“You can,” Minseok said. “How did it happen?”

“Some people shot at my store,” Jongdae shrugged. “I don’t know, it all just happened really fast. I got grazed. And then I got fired,” he groaned. “Please don’t let sober Jongdae forget he has to bring a resume back here tomorrow.”

“Here? The bar?” Minseok said, surprised.

“They looked like they needed help,” Jongdae said. “And a job’s a job.”

Plus five million won.

His desire to return it was stronger than ever.

“Let’s go, Jongdae hyung,” Kyungsoo said, pushing the door open. “There’s a car waiting outside.”

“I’ll see you later,” Jongdae said softly, brushing shoulders as he passed Minseok.

“I’d prefer if you stopped bleeding before then,” Minseok said.

With a little help from Kyungsoo, Jongdae slid into the back of the taxi, shivering as the night air rushed in through the open door. Kyungsoo slid in next to him, looking unimpressed.

“Did he confess?” Kyungsoo asked.

“Is that why you left?” Jongdae said tiredly, leaning into Kyungsoo’s side.

“I didn’t want to deal with the fallout. And I’m taking that as a yes. What’d you say?”

“Nothing,” Jongdae sighed. “He said he’d give me time to make up my mind about it.”

“That’s very…nice,” Kyungsoo said.

“Why are you making that sound like a bad thing?” Jongdae asked.

“Because he’s _too_ nice, Jongdae. I’m suspicious of people like that the most. What are they hiding? What does their real face look like?”

“You’ve been reading too many thriller novels again,” Jongdae rolled his eyes. “He’s just nice, Kyungsoo.”

“Chanyeol is ‘just nice.’ Minseok is something else. I just don’t know what.”

Jongdae snored softly next to him.  


	4. Chapter 4

“Three…two…one…and we’re all officially the same age now!” Baekhyun said, snapping a party hat onto Chanyeol’s head. “So stop calling us hyung, you overgrown man child.”

Chanyeol pouted even as his eyes crinkled. “I’m always gonna’ call Jongdae hyung, because I respect him like my older brother. You, though, Baekkie…” Chanyeol shook his head, sneaking a hand out to mess up Baekhyun’s hair.

“Yah!” Baekhyun complained, throwing back the glass of soju in front of him. “Are you saying you don’t respect me?”

“Stop yelling at me on my birthday! You’re supposed to be nice!” Chanyeol whined.

It never ceased to amuse Jongdae that the small Baekhyun and large Chanyeol constantly found ways to fight with each other. But the second someone was mean to either one of them, the other jumped to their defense. Jongdae just thought that Chanyeol _wanted_ to be treated like a kid by his friends, because strangers always assumed he was older and responsible.

“Says who? Is there a law?” Baekhyun grumbled back, pressing his shoulder into Chanyeol’s side.

“Not that I don’t appreciate you guys celebrating with me, but didn’t you have plans to meet up with the others?” Jongdae asked, drying a glass with a bar towel. “Don’t cut your birthday short because I have to work, Yeol.”

Luhan was a mercurial man to please, but he was fair when it came to respecting his employees. Jongdae was making more money than he had made at the store, and the hours were earlier, but he also had to work harder. Luhan had given him a week-long probation period where he had to show up to learn every night, and then set a regular schedule where he worked at the bar every other night.

Someone sat down at a seat at the end of the bar, and Jongdae left his friends to go fill their order with small talk and a smile. Robotic, polite Jongdae was constantly out in full force, and he was exhausted after all of his shifts.  

“Before you go,” Jongdae remembered suddenly, reaching under the bar where he’d stored his jacket and pulling out an envelope. “Happy birthday, Chanyeol.”

“Jongdae hyung…” Chanyeol said, eyes widening. “You didn’t have to get me anything!”

“I wanted to,” Jongdae shrugged, pushing the envelope into Chanyeol’s hands. “Now you guys go have some fun before Luhan yells at me for slacking off.”

“He better not,” Chanyeol mumbled, pulling the party hat off and putting his beanie back on over his mussed hair. “Thank you, really.”

“Stop making it weird, and let’s go get drunk!” Baekhyun said, pushing at Chanyeol’s back. “See you later, Dae! Promise not to have too much fun without you!”

“What a liar,” Jongdae shook his head as the two pushed open the door, letting in the cold air from outside.

He poured fifteen shots in a row for a particularly rowdy group holding a bachelorette party, putting up with their harmless flirting and getting a large tip in return.

“Things okay down here?” Luhan said, appearing from around the corner where there was a set of stairs leading to a small second floor, Luhan’s apartment. He’d spent all his savings on the building, and during the remodel for the bar had managed to scrape enough together to give himself a small studio. Jongdae had never been inside, just seen it when Luhan entered or left the main bar area.

“I have it under control,” Jongdae said, ducking his head politely in greeting.

“That’s why I love you, Jongdae. You do the work of three lazy employees put together,” Luhan chuckled, boyish features lighting up with something akin to glee.

“I’m not sure about that,” Jongdae huffed, shaking his head uncertainly. “I just pour drinks, boss. I’m not a superhero or anything.”

“You’re _my_ superhero!” Luhan said, batting his lashes, and Jongdae grimaced. His silky hair was dyed brown and actually sparkled under the bar lights. Luhan was also gifted with a small face and nose, and bright eyes. He may have looked sweet on the outside, but Jongdae had seen him erupt like a volcano when one of his waiters was late.

“Umm—“ Jongdae said uncertainly, chewing on his bottom lip. “Actually, never mind.”

“What?” Luhan said, face flickering immediately to annoyed. “You can’t just drop it once you bring up, Jongdae.”

“No, well, I mean…” Jongdae said nervously. “Do you think…I could use the karaoke setup some time? I don’t mean…I don’t need the machine…but it would be really good practice for my vocal final.”

“Jongdae, you sing?” Luhan asked, tilting his head to the side inquisitively.

“A little? But, I mean, I don’t want to perform, I just…I thought if I came a little early for my shift, then I could practice—“

“I’ll make you a deal,” Luhan said, eyes glinting mischievously. “Impress me with a song and I’ll let you use it whenever you want.”

“Umm…then, after work—“

“What? No! Right now!” Luhan demanded.

Jongdae blinked incredulously. It wasn’t a very busy night, but he’d never planned on performing in front of anyone other than his three panel judges. “What? Boss—“

“Hmm, sounds to me you’re afraid of showing me how bad you are,” Luhan said slyly.

“I’m not…I’m not bad!” Jongdae said indignantly.

“Then what’s the problem?” Luhan said, brows elevating skeptically. “I’ll even be a benevolent boss and take over here for you while you do it.”

“Oh, fine,” Jongdae sighed. “But please hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Impress me, then!” Luhan said, as Jongdae rounded the bar and approached the stage, waiting patiently for one of the bachelorette party women to relinquish the microphone. The annoyance he’d felt when Luhan had suggested he was bad was beginning to be replaced by anxiety. He took a few deep breaths, racking his brain for something that would make him sound good.

After a few minutes, the microphone was thrust haphazardly into his hands as the woman stumbled away, Jongdae dodging an attempt to touch his butt. And so with flushed cheeks, he climbed onto the stage and claimed the stool set up in the middle of it.

He coughed, clearing his throat as a few people turned to look at him, wondering why the yodeling had stopped.

It’s not like he’d never performed in front of an audience before. In fact, he did it all the time in high school. But, he never quite got over that edge of panic that seemed to rise with standing in front of people, of having them think whatever they wanted about him. It wasn’t even that he was worried about himself, he was worried about them. What if they didn’t like it? What if he wasn’t good enough for them?

Licking his suddenly dry lips, Jongdae opened his mouth and began to sing. He didn’t bother with setting a backing track, as the lyrics flashing across the obnoxiously bright screen just would have made him flustered. Instead, he picked something simple, a ballad from twenty years ago that his mother had liked to hum around the house. It was familiar, and it made him feel warm inside.

He held the final note, lungs burning with effort but heart glowing with joy. He really, really loved singing.

Jongdae jumped from the stool and headed down the small stage stairs, feeling a little lighter than before. He quickly handed the microphone to the next person in line.

Jongdae honestly thought he’d sounded at least okay, but the look Luhan was giving him was making him second guess himself. “Was it…that bad?” Jongdae wondered, slipping behind the bar again.

“That bad? Are you kidding?” Luhan said incredulously.

Jongdae frowned, heart sinking, eyes dropping to the bar counter.

“Jongdae, consider me impressed. You can practice whenever you want.”

“Really?” Jongdae said, gaze shooting to Luhan’s to make sure he wasn’t playing a trick.

“Shut up and get back to work,” Luhan waved him off, pulling his phone from his pocket. He frowned when he looked at the screen. “I have to take this. Don’t bother me unless there’s an emergency.”

“Okay…” Jongdae said, uncertain, as Luhan stomped his way up to his room.

At least he wouldn’t have to reserve a practice room anymore.

He let his mind wander as he filled glass after glass, even getting creative when a few people asked him to mix something unique for them. It was approaching two in the morning, and subsequently closing time, that Luhan finally reappeared downstairs. Jongdae busied himself with wiping down the counter and sweeping debris from behind the bar for one of the waiters to take care of.

“Jongdae,” Luhan said, face unusually expressionless. “I…”

“What is it, boss?” Jongdae said uneasily. “Something wrong?”

“Jongdae, you can’t…work here anymore.”

Jongdae felt like the air was punched from his lungs. “What?” he whispered.

“Finish out your last day this week, and you can pick up your last paycheck then,” Luhan said, not meeting his eyes.

“But…” Jongdae said, unable to catch his breath. “I don’t understand. You said…you said I was better than three workers put t-together, and you agreed that I could practice—“

“It’s not up for debate, Jongdae!” Luhan said harshly. “You’re fired!”

“But boss!” Jongdae said desperately, the broom slipping from his fingers. “I don’t…can you at least tell me what I did wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, you just can’t work here anymore,” Luhan said lowly.

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” Jongdae said, rubbing at his forehead. He sighed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He would save himself at least a little dignity. “Okay…okay, I’ll just…” Jongdae retrieved his jacket from under the bar, slipping it on as he avoided Luhan’s eyes. “It was…umm…it was a pleasure working with you, boss.” He offered Luhan a stiff bow.

“Jongdae,” Luhan said. “Really, you’re a great worker. But, listen…just take the money, okay?”

“Money?” Jongdae said, confused. “I don’t…what _money_?”

“Think about it. You know what I mean. Otherwise, this is just going to keep happening. But, listen, the stage is open to you any time you want it. I’m still serious about that.”

Jongdae nodded uncertainly as he turned his back on Luhan, squaring his shoulders as he headed for the door. “I’ll…I’ll see you Friday.”

Jongdae shuddered as he walked into a gust of wind far stronger than his jacket could handle, shoving his hands deep into the thin pockets and making his way to his apartment building near campus. He didn’t know how to feel. There was a lot of disappointment and hurt, but mostly…confusion.  

He was sure that he and Luhan had gotten along well with each other. And honestly, it sounded like Luhan didn’t even want to fire him. But then why…?

Luhan had mentioned money. Money. What money? Jongdae definitely didn’t have any, which was the whole problem. Now he’d have to look for yet another job, when he’d been so lucky with the last.

Jongdae was shivering by the time he pushed his key into the lock, barely able to get a good grip on the door handle and pull it open. It was dark inside, Kyungsoo probably still out celebrating Chanyeol’s birthday. Tiredly, he nudged off his shoes, setting them off to the side. It was then that he noticed the envelope.

Curiously, Jongdae picked it up and brought it into the living room, clicking on a lamp. His name was across the front, and he was struck by a sense of _déjà vu_. Eyes widening in realization, he quickly tore it open and pulled out the check for _seven_ million won. And the note.

_My secretary tells me you still haven’t deposited the last check. Please, Jongdae, you should be focused on school and not worrying about work. Was it not enough? I’ve increased the amount._

_Best, Joonmyun_

Jongdae stared at it.

Was this what Luhan meant by money?

His thoughts flew to the undeposited check still resting on the corner of his desk.

They wouldn’t…they wouldn’t have made Luhan fire him. They didn’t have that power. They couldn’t do that.

Could they?

“Jongdae?” Kyungsoo said, making Jongdae jump.

“Geeze, Soo, you gave me a heart attack,” Jongdae said, hand rubbing at his chest. “How…how was the party?”

“Same as usual,” Kyungsoo shrugged. “Minseok asked about you.”

“Oh,” Jongdae said, shoving the check into his back jean pocket.

“So…why are you just standing here in the semi-dark?” Kyungsoo asked.

“No…no particular reason,” Jongdae said. “I’m tired, so…I’m going to sleep.”

“Okay,” Kyungsoo shrugged. “You’re being weird.”

Jongdae desperately wanted to tell someone about this problem. But he didn’t want Kyungsoo to worry about him, especially after last month’s debacle.

“Long night,” Jongdae muttered, heading to his room.

Not for the first time, he didn’t sleep at all.

 

////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

Jongdae was filled with burning questions when he reported to his last shift on Friday, but it seemed as though Luhan was determined not answer them, absent for the entirety of the night.

A few regulars noticed his bad mood, and Jongdae began to feel even worse. He still had a job to do, after all, and people went out to relax. Not to see his unhappy face.

“Another,” the man who’d been occupying a middle seat at the bar demanded, slamming his glass onto the wood.

Jongdae sighed, but smiled politely, fulfilling his request. After that, he was cutting him off, no matter what.

“Jongdae?” a voice said from behind him, and Jongdae turned to find a grinning Minseok waving shyly at him, taking his own seat.

“Minseok…hyung?” Jongdae said.

“I, umm, I was out with a few friends, and I just wanted to stop by and say hello on my way home,” Minseok said, cheeks flushed.

“That’s…really nice of you,” Jongdae said, mustering up the will to give Minseok a genuine smile. “What were you guys up to?”

“Oh, the usual grad student study party,” Minseok grimaced. “Involving a lot of notes and a lot of hard alcohol. Honestly, I’m not sure why I bother going to these things.”

“Fear of missing out?” Jongdae suggested, offering Minseok some bar snacks. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just a soda, please,” Minseok said. “And that’s way too insightful for this time of night. I’d rather pretend I actually want to go, thank you very much.”

“Sorry I missed you at Chanyeol’s birthday party,” Jongdae said, surprised to find that he actually meant it.

“I know you had to work, Jongdae!” Minseok waved him off. “Besides, it was fun! Baekhyun knows how to keep things lively. And Sehun really has a thing for petting hair when drunk.”

“It’s cute,” Jongdae shrugged.

“And Chanyeol opened your card when we were there. It was really sweet of you to get him that producing software. That’s an expensive program, right?”

Jongdae shrugged. “He’s wanted it for a while, so it wasn’t a big deal.”

“You’re so nice, Jongdae,” Minseok said, sighing wistfully. “That’s why I worry about you.”

Jongdae huffed. “Yeah, I worry about me, too. But I’m not that nice, hyung.”

“Hey, the customer is always right!” Minseok said cheerily, winking as Jongdae poured his soda.

“Well, this is your last chance to be one,” Jongdae sighed. “It’s my last night here.”

“What?” Minseok said, immediately more alert. “Why, did something happen?”

“I don’t know,” Jongdae said. “Luhan just…un-hired me. So I guess it’s back to the job search.”

“What? That’s—it doesn’t make sense! You’re like the most responsible, reliable employee in Seoul!” Minseok said.

“I thought so, too,” Jongdae said, shoulders slumping. “But it’s pointless to argue about it. It’s not like I can make him change his mind, and it’d be a waste of energy.”

“Hey,” the drunken man called, and Jongdae’s back stiffened.

“Duty calls,” Jongdae sighed, sending Minseok a half-smile.

He returned to the center of the bar, where another drink was being demanded. “I’m sorry, sir, but giving you any more would be dangerous to your health. How about some water or juice?”

“What? It’s your job to fuckin’ pour, so pour,” the man slurred angrily.

“I can’t do that,” Jongdae said, wincing as his face met with a splash of watered down whiskey. Jongdae exhaled, using the closest towel to dab at his face. From his peripheral vision, he saw Minseok stand up and take a few steps in his direction. “Sir, I’m not giving you any more.”

“Call your supervisor!” the man demanded.

“I’m in charge for tonight, and you aren’t getting any more to drink,” Jongdae said, heartrate beginning to pick up. People were unpredictable when they’d been drinking.

The man grumbled to himself, sending Jongdae a hateful glare before tottering to his feet.

Jongdae was glad to let him go, except for the fact that the man began to struggle with something in one of his pockets. “Sir, you can’t drive like this!” Jongdae said, coming out from behind the bar and sharing a look with Minseok, who followed behind him. “Sir!”

“Shut up and mind your own business!” the man slurred, ignoring Jongdae’s attempts to convince him to drop the keys. Jongdae was honestly surprised he was this functional, as he’d practically downed a bottle of whiskey on his own.

“The safety of everyone on the road became my business when you decided you wanted to drive after drinking here!” Jongdae said desperately. “I can’t let you go unless you leave your keys here. Otherwise, I’ll have to call the police!”

A few people had begun to notice the disturbance, pulling out cell phones to film it rather than attempting to intervene. Jongdae couldn’t really blame them, he didn’t want to be involved either, but it was his responsibility.

“Get out of my face!” the man yelled, swinging his arms. Either he forgot he was holding his keys, or he didn’t care, but Jongdae was struck across the cheek by a fistful of metal.

Jongdae whined, clutching at his cheek as he stumbled back, pain flaring hot and piercing. Minseok took his place and wrenched the man’s arm behind his back. “You,” Minseok said, eyeing a filming man who jumped when Minseok gave him attention, “call the police.” The drunken man was significantly larger than both Jongdae and Minseok, but Minseok wrestled him to the ground like it was nothing, pressing a knee into his back. Jongdae could only watch in astonishment and agony.

“Jongdae,” Minseok said worriedly, “are you okay?”

“Maybe,” Jongdae said, the movement of his facial muscles causing him extreme pain, keeping his hand over the hurting cheek. “I should tell Luhan…” he said, looking at Minseok uncertainly.

“I got him,” Minseok said, looking down at the body under him derisively.

Jongdae nodded in lieu of a verbal response, making his way to the stairs and climbing up to Luhan’s door. He knocked hesitantly at first, and then louder to make sure Luhan could hear over the music.

“ _What_?” Luhan growled, wrenching the door open. “This better be—“ He froze, mouth dropping open, when he took in Jongdae clutching at his cheek, eyes watering. “Jongdae? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Customer hit me when I tried to stop him from driving drunk,” Jongdae said with some difficulty. “My friend has him restrained downstairs. Called the police.”

“Fuck,” Luhan said. “Okay, I’ll go down and take care of it. Why are you still holding onto your face? Let me see.”

Jongdae unwillingly moved his hand, surprised to see it come away bloody.

“Holy shit, Jongdae!” Luhan exclaimed.

“Bad?” Jongdae said, fighting the urge to cover it up again.

“I’m pretty sure I can see your cheekbone,” Luhan said, turning his face to the side to examine it more closely. “What the hell did he hit you with?”

“Sorry,” Jongdae said, pulling his head away.

“What? No, it’s not a—“ Luhan cut himself off with growl. “Whatever, come on.”

Luhan skipped quickly down the stairs, eyeing Minseok’s position incredulously. “You’re the friend?” Luhan questioned.

“Yeah,” Minseok said, expression unfriendly.

“Take Jongdae to the hospital while I handle this,” Luhan said, pulling out his phone.

“Hospital?” Minseok said in alarm, eyes quickly focusing on Jongdae, who’d put his hand back in place.

“I don’t want more stitches,” Jongdae sighed.

“Then you should’ve dodged,” Luhan shot back.

“Hey, it wasn’t his fault!” Minseok said angrily.

“Please,” Jongdae said, looking between them. “It _was_ my fault, I know that. I knew what I was risking when I went after him.”

Minseok looked like he wanted to say something else, but the man under him squirmed angrily. “Yah!” Minseok yelled, pressing his knee down hard. “You be still!”

A few people approached them after pushing through the crowd, and Jongdae was worried before Luhan acknowledged them. “Take care of this, would you?” Luhan directed, and they took over for Minseok, pulling the man outside.

“Who--?” Jongdae wondered.

“Security,” Luhan said ambiguously. “Don’t worry about it. Go to the hospital. You can grab your check some other time.”

“Come on, Jongdae,” Minseok ushered him away, eyes filled with concern. “You’re bleeding! Why are you always bleeding?!”


	5. Chapter 5

“I know you’re tired, but you need to stay awake, Jongdae,” Minseok said gently, running his fingers through Jongdae’s hair as he curled up in an uncomfortable waiting room chair.

“Hyung, you really don’t have to stay with me,” Jongdae said, wincing even as he spoke from the movement of his facial muscles. “It’s not fair for you to spend all night in the emergency room and lose sleep because of me. I promise I’ll be fine, you should go home and rest.”

“Jongdae…” Minseok sighed, eyeing the painful-looking gash along Jongdae’s cheekbone and the rust-colored stains that had migrated down Jongdae’s neck. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving you alone,” Minseok said quietly.

“It…it hurts…” Jongdae admitted, curling up tighter so that his entire body fit on the lumpy cushion and within the two arms of the chair. The waiting room was freezing, and Jongdae was fighting the shivers ready to course through his body. “Do you think…they’ll see me soon?” he asked, blinking in exhaustion.

Minseok’s hand stilled briefly on Jongdae’s head before continuing it’s slow stroking. “Poor baby…I’m sure someone will call us back soon, alright?”

“Okay,” Jongdae agreed, letting the uninjured side of his face rest against Minseok’s shoulder because it was too much of an effort to hold it up anymore, and Minseok’s shoulder was warm. “Sorry, hyung.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Minseok said. “Never apologize for being a good person.”

Despite Minseok’s warning, Jongdae must have nodded off, because when he opened his eyes again, it was to a pair of shiny black boots and dark ripped jeans. “Huh?” he groaned, hit once again with the pain radiating from his cheek. As his eyes came into focus, he couldn’t help his startled inhale as he recognized Yixing, who was busy having a ferocious starting contest with Minseok.

“Huh,” Yixing mirrored, finally looking in his direction, glancing between Jongdae and Minseok.

“What’s goin’ on?” Jongdae slurred, brain muddled by sleep and pain.

“I should be asking you that,” Yixing said, somehow making Jongdae feel small as his eyes panned Jongdae’s curled up form.

“I got hurt,” Jongdae said lamely, fidgeting under Yixing’s scrutiny.

“I can see that,” Yixing rolled his eyes.

“But you got me fired,” Jongdae said defensively.

“I did what?” Yixing said, scoffing. “Whatever, come with me.” He reached down to pull Jongdae up, only to have his attempt thwarted by Minseok. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he said incredulously. “Why do you always get in my way?”

“Do you two…know each other?” Jongdae said, looking between them.

“No,” they both said in unison, turning aggressively towards Jongdae, who shrunk into himself at the tension.

“Mr. Zhang?” a flushed doctor said, approaching their corner nervously. “We have a room ready for you, now.”

“It’s not for me,” Yixing said. “Go with him,” he jerked his head at Jongdae.

“What?” Jongdae said dumbly.

“Go get your face fixed, dummy,” Yixing rolled his eyes, reaching down for Jongdae again and shrugging off Minseok’s aborted attempts to stop him. He gently took Jongdae’s arms and set him on his feet, nudging him toward the doctor.

“Okay…” Jongdae said, trailing after the doctor, who was nearly bowing and scraping as Jongdae glanced over his shoulder to watch Minseok and Yixing continue to shoot eye daggers at one another.

“Up here,” the doctor said, opening a private room and pointing to a heavily cushioned examination table.

“Umm,” Jongdae said uncertainly. “I don’t need a fancy room, I can just—“

“Mr. Zhang’s taken care of everything,” the man dismissed, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. “Let’s have a look, here.”

Jongdae felt his eyes watering as the man quickly and efficiently cleaned his face and disinfected the wound, cheek continuing to radiate pain and even start to bleed again. The man examined the slice carefully, turning Jongdae’s face back and forth.

“To prevent major scarring, I’m going to have to put in a lot of very thin stitches,” the doctor said. “For a wound of this magnitude, my best guess would be fifteen, at least. I’m going to come back with a local anesthetic, and we’ll get you sewn right up.”

“Okay,” Jongdae nodded meekly, squeezing his hands together until knuckles turned white as the doctor left the room.

The door immediately opened again, and Jongdae jerked his head up, startled, as Yixing stepped inside.

“Are you allowed to be back here?” Jongdae asked uncertainly.

“It’s my hospital,” Yixing shrugged.

“Oh,” Jongdae said. “But I thought…aren’t you, like, a gangster, or something?”

Yixing stared at him for a moment, then surprised Jongdae by letting out a hearty laugh. “Or something,” Yixing agreed, stepping closer to Jongdae. Much like the doctor had, Yixing examined the wound critically. “You should try harder to keep this pretty.”

Jongdae flushed red, unsure of what to say. “I-I’m not—“ He swallowed, shaking his head. “How…I mean, why are you at the hospital? Did you get hurt?”

“I’m here for you, idiot,” Yixing said.

“Me? But…” Jongdae said.

“Joonmyun called and said you were here. I was closer, so I came to check.”

“Oh,” Jongdae said. How would he know that? “You didn’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

“But what’s this about getting you fired?” Yixing asked, stone-faced.  

“I thought…I mean, Luhan said I should just take the money, and—“

“Luhan?” Yixing said, brow furrowing. “What money?”

“You don’t…know?” Jongdae asked skeptically.

“If I did, would I be fucking asking?” Yixing said.

“Joonmyun…he’s been trying to get me to take his money and stop working. I think,” Jongdae added uncertainly. “I didn’t want it, though. I never…I mean, I just, it’s not me to just take money like that…And then my boss, Luhan, told me that I had to stop working for him and to just take the money. So…it makes the most sense, right?” he shrugged, a little defeated, shoulders slumping.

“Keep going to work,” Yixing said.

“Wh-what?” Jongdae said.

“Keep going to work,” Yixing repeated impatiently. “I’ll have a talk with him. He’s a sheltered idiot who doesn’t know how to interact with people in a normal way. You can keep your job.”

“Thanks,” Jongdae said quietly, feeling like something heavy had been lifted off of his shoulders.

The doctor came back in, nearly dropping the hypodermic needle he was carrying when he spotted Yixing. To his credit, he swallowed and recovered quickly, walking Jongdae through the steps of getting his stitches.

Jongdae squeezed his eyes shut when the needle pierced his skin, and he was surprised when Yixing wrapped Jongdae’s hand around his own larger one. “Squeeze when it hurts,” he said softly. Jongdae took him up on it, hating the way it felt when the needle pulled at his skin.

“All done,” the doctor finally said, peeling off his gloves after smoothing the surgical tape on the bandage covering the stitches. He pulled out a pamphlet from his coat pocket and handed it to Jongdae. “Instructions on general care for you stitches. You need to be especially careful when washing not to bust any open, they’re very delicate.”

“I think I could have used one of these things a few weeks ago,” Jongdae huffed, accepting the folded paper.

“Why?” Yixing asked sharply.

Jongdae was taken aback. “Oh, I mean…I just pulled a few of the other ones accidentally…”

Without asking for his permission, Yixing immediately wrenched Jongdae’s shirt up, eyes falling on the ugly red, puffy patch of scar tissue decorating his side. “What the fuck. Doctor, look at this.”

The man immediately did as Yixing ordered, leaning down to eye the older wound in spite of Jongdae’s half-hearted protests. “It’s not infected. It’s healed, but not well,” the man confirmed. “That scar will be there for a while because of the many times it looks like this re-opened.” He paused for a moment, as though uncertain if it was alright to continue. “Also…I might recommend the patient attempt a higher caloric intake, as he is most definitely underweight for his height.”

Yixing threw Jongdae’s shirt down and turned to offer him a sharp glare.

“What?” Jongdae said defensively, cheeks still stained red. “I can’t help my size, okay?”

“No, but you—“ Yixing cut himself off, sighing in frustration. “Thank you, doctor. You may leave.”

The man nodded and quickly hurried from the room.

Jongdae swallowed, uncertain of what to say as Yixing stared at the ground.

“Do I need to get you a babysitter?” Yixing finally said.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you are clearly unable to take care of yourself. Do I have to do it for you?” Yixing said, grinding his teeth together, an accent slipping through his words.

“As far as I can remember, all you’re supposed to do is make sure I’m alive,” Jongdae pointed out. “And I am! This stupid thing isn’t life-threatening,” he gestured to his face. “All this in-between stuff…you’re doing that on your own,” he said defensively.

Yixing huffed, expression darkening. “You’re right, next time I’ll let you wait another four hours in the emergency room instead of helping you.”

“No, that’s not what…” Jongdae sighed. “I’m sorry, I just…I never thought we’d really meet again, and then Joonmyun…made Luhan fire me…and…I do appreciate your help. I just…don’t know what to do with it.”

“Say thank you and then shut up,” Yixing grumbled.

“Thank you,” Jongdae said meekly, playing with his fingers.

Yixing looked over at him and then sighed, expression softening. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“But…Minseok hyung…” Jongdae said.

“He had somewhere to be,” Yixing said, holding his hand out to help Jongdae hop down.

Jongdae took Yixing’s hand uncertainly, twitching at how cold it was. He stumbled as he jumped down, but it wasn’t from clumsiness. His feet just refused to do what his brain told them. “Ah,” Jongdae said, closing his eyes as a rush of dizziness had him leaning into Yixing’s side.

“Hey,” Yixing said, a surprising amount of worry in his voice. “You alright?”

“Just tired,” Jongdae sighed, trying to push away from Yixing’s solid body.

Instead of letting him, Yixing wrapped an arm around his waist. “You really are very small,” he said absently, moving Jongdae towards the door.

“We’re like…the same height…” Jongdae muttered.

Yixing looked down at him sternly. “No, we aren’t,” he said simply, rolling his eyes. “Maybe he should have checked you for a concussion.”

“I didn’t hit my head,” Jongdae sighed, giving in and letting Yixing lead him through the hospital hallways and to the elevator. “A drunk just…got the better of me,” he said.

Yixing frowned. “Are you awake enough for ice cream?”

“What?” Jongdae said, as Yixing reached to press the elevator call button.

“Ice cream,” Yixing repeated slowly. “You want some?”

“I don’t…know?” Jongdae said uncertainly.

Yixing shook his head. “No wonder you’re underweight. You’re turning down free ice cream?”

“Those things aren’t related,” Jongdae protested, self-consciously resting a hand on his stomach.

“Then is there something else that you want?” Yixing asked curiously.

Jongdae yawned, shaking his head. “Just to go to bed while my face is still numb,” he muttered, eyelids heavy.  “It’s gonna’ hurt so much tomorrow…Soo’s gonna’ be mad at me again.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Yixing said, voice filled with amusement.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Jongdae mumbled.

Yixing practically carried Jongdae to the parking lot, where a car was already running and waiting for them. Yixing opened the backdoor for Jongdae and then climbed in on the other side. “Put your head on my lap,” Yixing said suddenly, as the car began to move.

“What? Why?” Jongdae said.

“You’re sleepy, and if you fall asleep at the window, you’ll hurt your face,” Yixing said simply, patting his thigh. He frowned at the look on Jongdae’s face. “Jongdae, I’m not going to do anything to hurt you,” he said patiently. “I promise. I’m just worried about your face.”

Jongdae wondered whether the intimidating man he’d glimpsed during their first meeting was really a softy on the inside. Sighing, he complied, because Yixing’s reasoning really did make sense. He rested his unhurt cheek against a toned thigh, inhaling the strange scent of chocolate and oranges. He was probably just imagining the fingers in his hair.

 

////////////////////////

 

Jongdae woke with his eyes still closed, feeling the briefest moment of warmth and contentment before the pain came crashing down in waves.

“Ugh,” he groaned, pressing the uninjured side of his face into the sheets. He paused. They did not smell like his sheets. He sat up quickly, trying to resist the urge to slap a hand over the side of his face. Jongdae blinked as he took in the gigantic bedroom, furniture reeking of money and light spilling in through white curtains.

He pulled the sheets away from his body, noting that he was only in his boxers, but nothing felt strange or out of place. His feet came in contact with plush carpet, and he couldn’t resist scrunching his toes in it. Standing unsteadily, he headed for the first door he spotted. Opening it, Jongdae found a bathroom chiseled from marble. He really wanted to wash his face, but he was afraid of hurting his stitches, so he settled for going to the bathroom.

He left the bathroom and headed for the other door, opening it and peering outside. The smell of something savory hit his nose, and Jongdae swallowed, feeling his stomach grumble in hunger. Running a hand through his fluffed-up hair, Jongdae padded onto the wooden flooring that seemed to make up the rest of the place.

It didn’t take him long to find a set of metal spiraling stairs, peering over them and down to the living room and kitchen below. One thing was clear, at least. This wasn’t another hotel room.

Yixing was making breakfast, also in nothing but his boxers. He whistled as he threw a kitchen towel over his broad, golden shoulder. Jongdae swallowed, looking down at his own body in comparison and feeling more than a little insecure.

Yixing had a swimmer’s body, with broad muscled shoulders and a narrow waist, leading down to defined thighs and calves. The ridges of his abdominal muscles were visible even with just casual movement, and not because he was small and skeletal like Jongdae. He made a mental note to start going to the gym. Jongdae couldn’t help but smile when Yixing tried and failed to flip a pancake, cursing when it nearly flew from the skillet.

Jongdae took the stairs slowly, feeling unstable on the metal structure, and when he’d finally made it to the bottom, Yixing was watching him carefully.

“M-morning,” Jongdae said, feeling awkward and shy in both of their current states of undress.

“How’s the face?” Yixing said, quickly turning his back on Jongdae.

“It hurts,” Jongdae said honestly, confused by Yixing’s behavior.

“Go sit down, and I’ll bring you some food and aspirin,” Yixing said, still not looking at Jongdae.

“Okay?” Jongdae said, shuffling over to the wooden bar that wrapped around the kitchen and pushing himself onto a stool in front of it. “Is this your place?” Jongdae asked hesitantly, to break the silence.

Yixing nodded tersely.

“It’s nice,” Jongdae offered.

“Here,” Yixing said, sliding a plate piled with food in front of him, still not making eye contact. He set another plate a few seats away and sat down, shoveling food into his mouth.

“Are you okay?” Jongdae couldn’t help but ask.

“I can’t look at you. Eat your food, all of it,” Yixing said.

Confused, Jongdae took a few bites from the plate, surprised to find that it actually tasted good. He could only manage half of it before his stomach felt like it would burst. Yixing slid something over the counter, and Jongdae picked it up, reading the label and then shaking a few aspirin into his palm.

Yixing jumped up from the stool and practically sprinted upstairs. He was only gone for a minute before returning with an armful of clothes, having gotten dressed himself. “I washed your jeans, but your shirt was too blood-stained to save. You can use one of mine,” he said, handing the bundle to Jongdae but looking towards the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Jongdae shook his head before accepting the clothes, pulling the plain black shirt over his head, mindful of his stitches, and then struggling back into his jeans. Finally, Yixing was looking in his direction.

“You didn’t finish your food,” Yixing said, frowning. “Did it not taste good?”

“No! It tasted good!” Jongdae said hurriedly. “I just…you gave me enough for three people, how was I supposed to eat all that?”

“I gave you a normal amount,” Yixing said, brow furrowing.

“Normal for giants?” Jongdae said incredulously.

“Also, your friend called,” Yixing said, handing Jongdae his cell phone. “Kyungsoo. I told him we were sleeping together.”

Jongdae choked. “You told him _what_?”

“It’s always the easiest explanation, one that actually requires no explanation,” Yixing deadpanned.

“He’s…going to kill me,” Jongdae groaned. “And how do you think it’s going to look when I show up after ‘sleeping with you’ with this face?” he said, gesturing wildly.

“I’m sure Minseok will back you up,” Yixing said, Minseok’s name pronounced like it was dirty.

“Okay, you two…” Jongdae said.

“Don’t know him. Don’t like him,” Yixing said bluntly.

“Right,” Jongdae sighed.

“Oh, and I talked to Joon,” Yixing said offhandedly. “He’ll keep his little high society hands to himself from now on, so go to work like normal.”

“Oh,” Jongdae said. “Thank…thank you.”

Yixing shrugged, eyes flitting to Jongdae’s face. “How about I clean it for you, before you leave?”

“Oh, you don’t have to—“ Jongdae started.

But Yixing already had a hold of his hand and was leading him up the stairs and back to the bathroom he’d first visited. Much like Minseok had, he easily lifted Jongdae to sit on the sink with no trouble, pulling a gigantic first aid kit from the cabinet under it.

With an uncharacteristic gentleness, he peeled back the surgical tape and grimaced at the liquid staining the bandage.

“It’s gross, I know,” Jongdae muttered.

“Trust me, I’ve seen worse,” Yixing grunted, wetting a cotton ball with benzoyl peroxide. “Here we go,” he said softly, dabbing at the stitches as Jongdae winced. He then pulled out a small tube of scarring prevention cream, dabbing lightly at the stitches, before finally fixing a new bandage to the area.

When Jongdae dared to open his eyes, he nearly gasped at the closeness of their faces, Yixing’s breath ghosting over his cheeks as he met Jongdae’s gaze. Yixing seemed caught for a moment, eyes falling to Jongdae’s lips, before he offered Jongdae a small smile and pulled back once more.

“I bet I’m the best one night stand you’ve ever had,” Yixing chuckled. “You get the five star treatment.”

“If this counts, you’d be…the _only_ one night stand I’ve ever had…” Jongdae trailed off awkwardly.

Yixing froze for a moment, quickly turning away from Jongdae. That was such a strange habit to have, Jongdae thought.

“We…we’ll go when you’re ready,” Yixing said, clearing his throat and practically running from the bathroom.

Jongdae stared after him, hopping down from the counter. “I'm ready _now_ ,” he sighed, rolling his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea how long this fic will ultimately end up being, but I have a feeling it's going to turn into a monster. Hopefully, there's no complaints about that, though.


	6. Chapter 6

Jongdae was experiencing an uncanny moment of déjà vu as he opened his apartment door and dragged his feet through the entryway to find Detective Wu grimacing over a cup of coffee in his small kitchen. The detective’s legs were scrunched uncomfortably under the table that fit Kyungsoo and Jongdae perfectly, cutting an anachronistic figure against the usual backdrop .

The detective’s eyes shot up when Jongdae entered, expression hardening when they settled on the patch of white gauze covering his cheek. “Mr. Kim,” the man said, squeezing himself out from under the table and standing up, towering over Jongdae. “Your roommate mentioned he had something to do, but he said it was alright for me to wait here for your return.”

“Oh,” Jongdae said, brushing awkwardly past the detective in order to get to the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of water and practically inhaled it, whining in the back of his throat as the movement pulled at his stitches. “Okay,” Jongdae sighed. “Can I help you with something?”

“I need a statement from you, Mr. Kim. You left the scene of an incident last night,” Detective Wu said sternly. “I won’t let your statement be hand-waved this time.”

“Hand…waved?” Jongdae said, confused. “What are you talking about? And I didn’t mean to leave, I just…I had to go the hospital, and I didn’t…I wasn’t really thinking clearly at that point.”

The detective sighed, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Regardless of what you meant…I need a statement from you about what happened last night. And how you got that,” he lifted his chin to indicate Jongdae’s face.

“Fine,” Jongdae said tiredly, sitting down at the table. He was almost too tired to feel nervous, as the detective stared at him piercingly. “A patron was drinking too much, so I cut him off. But then I saw him trying to pull out his car keys, and I couldn’t just let him drive drunk like that. I tried to convince him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen to me. And then he hit me.”

“And then?” the detective prompted.

“And then what?” Jongdae said, unsure.

“I assume the bruises all over Cho Jungsu didn’t appear by magic,” he said.

“Bruises…? My friend just—he was protecting me! It was self-defense!” Jongdae said, alarmed, wincing at the pain in his cheek.

“So start telling me the truth, and we won’t have any problems! There’s a ‘friend’ now? You didn’t mention that before,” Detective Wu barked.

“I am telling you the truth!” Jongdae said defensively. “That guy hit me, and then my friend restrained him, and then we went to the hospital! My friend didn’t beat the guy up, or anything!”

“What’s your friend’s name?” Detective Wu asked.

“Kim…Kim Minseok…” Jongdae said, for some reason feeling like he was betraying him somehow.

“And then what happened?”

“What? Why does it matter?” Jongdae said incredulously. “Why…why does it feel like I’m the one who committed some crime?”

“Then why does it sound like you’re hiding something?” the detective pressed. Detective Wu’s height was beginning to feel threatening as he leaned over Jongdae’s chair.

“I already told you everything that happened. I don’t understand what else you want from me,” Jongdae said, voice wavering. “I’m not hiding anything, I’m just tired, and my face hurts, and…”

“I can’t find it in myself to believe you,” Detective Wu said after a moment. Jongdae watched in trepidation as the detective’s large hand moved to hover over the wounded side of his face. If the man wanted to hurt him, then Jongdae wouldn’t stand a chance. But that didn’t make any sense! He was a police officer. “I’ve seen too many faces like yours try to stick knives in my back.”

“Wh…” Jongdae stuttered, eyes widening as long fingers caressed the gauze. “What are you doing?” he managed to whisper.

The detective’s cold eyes continued to stare at Jongdae, as though he was looking for something on Jongdae’s face. 

“Detective Wu,” Jongdae protested, frightened, as he tried to lean away from the touch. “It’s your job to protect people, not threaten them!” He pushed up from his seat, but just as quickly found himself backed into the refrigerator, the appliance shaking as he slammed into it. “Stop it!” he said, face pulsing with pain and eyes pricking with panicked tears as he was crowded by the detective’s larger body. “What the hell do you _want_?”

“You…really don’t know, do you?”

“All I know is that you’re freaking me out,” Jongdae said. “Please, just leave me alone!” He fought the urge to push the detective away. He didn’t want to give the man any excuse to hurt him.

To his surprise and relief, the detective did take a few steps back. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Mr. Kim,” Detective Wu said, searching around in one of his coat pockets and withdrawing a business card. Jongdae tried not to let his heart pound out of his chest at the glimpse of the detective’s gun at his side. Detective Wu tossed the card onto the table and then narrowed his eyes at Jongdae. “Whether you know the rules or not, you’re now on the board. Give me a call when you’ve come to understand just how much shit you’re in.”

Jongdae’s mouth dropped open as the detective turned on his heel and left without another confusing word. He staggered back into his chair, running a hand nervously through his hair as his brain tried to put all of that together. “What the fuck…?” Jongdae muttered.

Even glancing at the detective’s business card made his stomach turn.

A knock at the door had Jongdae startling in his seat. Jongdae didn’t even want to stand up, but his responsible side sent him to his feet, anyway. After all, what if it was important? He shook his head at himself as he shuffled to the door. This was why he always got himself in trouble.

“Sehunnie?” Jongdae asked tiredly.

“Hyu-hyung!” Sehun said, surprised, defined brows drawn together. “What…what happened to you? Who did that? Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

Jongdae blinked. Those were probably the most sentences Sehun had spoken consecutively in all of Jongdae’s time knowing him. “I’m fine,” Jongdae shrugged, not wanting to get into it. “Did you need something?”

“Kyungsoo hyung…physics,” Sehun mumbled, eyes still caught on Jongdae’s cheek.

“Really, Sehun, I just had a little trouble at work,” Jongdae reassured him, pulling Sehun inside and closing the door. “Kyungsoo was going to help you with your physics homework? He’s not here right now, but if you guys set up a time, I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“Hyung,” Sehun said, forcing Jongdae to come to a stop and leaning down to look at his face. His expression was its usual mask of stoicism, but Jongdae didn’t feel threatened, as he had with Detective Wu. “Can I?” he asked.

Swallowing, Jongdae nodded, and Sehun gently pulled at the tape on Jongdae’s cheek. At any hint of Jongdae’s discomfort, he paused and readjusted his angle.

“How many stitches?” Sehun asked.

“Seventeen,” Jongdae muttered.

“Chanyeol hyung is going to get mad about this,” Sehun said. “Everyone will, but you’ll have to calm him down.”

Jongdae sighed. “Let’s just watch some dramas, huh?”

They sat silently in front of the television, and if Sehun pressed against him a little closer than normal, Jongdae pretended not to notice.

It wasn’t much longer before the door was opening again, and Jongdae could recognize it was Kyungsoo entering by the way he walked. “Kim Jongdae, you have a lot of explaining to do about a certain _man_ who answered your—“ Kyungsoo began, eyes flitting to Sehun once he rounded the corner into the living room. “We have company,” he said, eyes drifting to Jongdae’s cheek. “And the boyfriend wasn’t lying, was he?”

“B-boy—“ Jongdae stuttered, eyes widening.

“I just assumed. You’re not the type to go around sleeping with people you haven’t already declared your undying love to,” Kyungsoo said sourly. He looked at Sehun. “Oh, right, I said I’d help you, didn’t I?”

“Hyung, you have a boyfriend?” Sehun blinked, surprised.

“I…th-that…” Jongdae floundered, swallowing. How could he possibly explain Yixing?

“Rejecting Minseok makes a lot more sense to me now,” Kyungsoo nodded shortly. “It seemed as though you liked him, even if I wasn’t buying it all the way, but I guess you were sneaking around behind my back and seeing other boys.”

“ _Sneaking_?” Jongdae said incredulously. “Kyungsoo—“

“Did he do that to you?” Sehun said, suddenly standing up from the couch.

“Do…what? Sehunnie, no! I told you, I had some trouble at work—“ Jongdae tried.

“You don’t have to protect him if he did that…” Sehun muttered, bangs flopping into his eyes as he ducked his head.

“I promise, it was just a drunk,” Jongdae said gently. “And I don’t…I mean, I don’t really have a—“

A crisp knock sounded at the front door, and Kyungsoo turned to look over his shoulder with an annoyed expression. “I didn’t promise anyone else anything, did I?”

“I’ll get it,” Jongdae sighed. He was glad to escape to the front door and away from that conversation. He was still formulating what to say as he pulled open the door.

“Jongdae!” Joonmyun said happily, hands laden with grocery bags and a box of pizza. He was immaculately dressed in slim-fit denim, a white button-up tucked into his waistband, and a gleaming Rolex on his wrist, hair perfectly shaped.

Jongdae gasped, quickly closing the door behind him as he stepped into the hallway. “J-Joon…I mean…Mr. Joonmyun?...Ugh…”

“Hyung, please,” Joonmyun said, thrusting the pizza box into Jongdae’s arms so that he could better examine Jongdae’s face, turning his chin to the side. He clicked his tongue as he admired the stitches, frown deepening. “Well, this just won’t do, will it?”

Reaching around Jongdae’s body, Joonmyun opened the door to Jongdae’s apartment and stepped inside.

“W-wait, umm--!” Jongdae tried, but it was too late, and the man was already staring a little derisively around his and Kyungsoo’s apartment.

“This won’t do at all,” he muttered, pausing as he spotted the two in the living room. “Oh! Jongdae’s friends?” Joonmyun asked, smile illuminating.

“The boyfriend?” Kyungsoo immediately questioned, quirking an eyebrow. “You look different than I imagined from our conversation.”

“N-no, that’s not—“ Jongdae said.

“That’s me! I’ve been told I have an uncouth phone voice,” Joonmyun said boisterously. “I brought pizza! You kids like that, right? You’re both welcome to have some! Also, Jongdae, I brought you some groceries, so make sure to eat everything, okay?” He wandered into the kitchen, still looking vaguely dissatisfied, and set the bags on the table. He seemed to pause as his eyes caught something, but his pleasant expression returned as quickly as it had gone. “Jongdae, would you mind if I spoke to you alone for a moment?”

Unable to do anything but nod jerkily, Jongdae led Joonmyun into his room, ignoring the perplexed look of Sehun and Kyungsoo’s interested head tilt.

“What the hell?” Jongdae hissed as soon as he’d shut the door. “ _Boyfriend_?”

“Is there a better way of explaining how we know each other?” Joonmyun said, taking in the room and Jongdae’s neatly made bed. He spotted at the small collection of trophies inside of Jongdae’s bookcase and wandered over to investigate. “I just went with it.”

“Wow, you and Yixing seem really different, but you’re actually exactly the same,” Jongdae said dryly.

“I’m insulted,” Joonmyun gasped, spinning on his heel. He frowned as he looked at Jongdae’s wound again. “We’ll have to schedule you an appointment.”

“For…what?” Jongdae asked. “These stitches dissolve, I think—“

“No, silly, for the scar. I can have a surgeon ready whenever you need one,” Joonmyun said.

“What? I’m not getting plastic surgery for this stupid thing!” Jongdae said.

“…We’ll see…” Joonmyun conceded. “Anyway, I…I noticed a card on your table? A business card?”

“Oh, that…” Jongdae suppressed a shudder. “A detective just came to ask me about…” he gestured to his face.

Joonmyun’s expression flickered into something dark before returning to normal. “I see. Well, it shouldn’t happen again. And you let me know if it does, won’t you?”

“I don’t…have your…” Jongdae said, but Joonmyun interrupted by tossing a phone at his chest. It was large and incredibly thin, clearly a newer model of something. “Ah,” Jongdae said. “Instead of just giving your number, you bought me a phone. Of course.”

“You’re welcome!” Joonmyun smiled.

Jongdae frowned as he remembered why he’d been mad at Joonmyun in the first place, now that the panic had worn off. “I can’t believe you made Luhan fire me!”

“Well, clearly it was a good idea, just a day too late!” Joonmyun said shamelessly. “You’re in school, you shouldn’t be working at a bar at all hours of the night! How are you supposed to study? And on top of that, it’s dangerous!”

“I don’t know exactly what you do, but I know it involves carrying a gun around at night,” Jongdae said. “And you’re saying being a bartender is dangerous? You got me shot!”

“Do as I say, not as I do,” Joonmyun sniffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn’t a very large man, probably around Jongdae’s height, but the silhouettes of muscles were easily distinguishable under the fabric of his clothing.

“Is there a reason you came over?” Jongdae finally asked.

Joonmyun shifted on the balls of his feet, glancing towards the floor. “Xing filled me on what happened, mentioned the doctor recommended that you eat more. And I was already out shopping, so…” he trailed off.

Jongdae stared. “You…”

“But, Jongdae, don’t take this wrong way…What would it take for me to convince you to let me buy you a better apartment?”

Jongdae sighed. “You’re not buying me an apartment. It’s a…nice thought, but my life is fine.”

“But…it’s so…” Joonmyun said, grimacing.

“Mine,” Jongdae said. “And fine.”

“Okay…” Joonmyun mumbled, managing to look charming, even though not at all happy.

“Do you…want some pizza?” Jongdae sighed.

“I’d love some!” Joonmyun agreed, following Jongdae back into the rest of the apartment.

Jongdae paused when he counted a lot more bodies than were previously there.

“You son of a bitch!” Baekhyun said, at the same time as Chanyeol charged, pressing Joonmyun into a flimsy wall, threatening to put a hole in the plaster. Just as compared to Jongdae, Chanyeol was twice the older man’s size.

“You did this, didn’t you?” Chanyeol growled, hands tightening around Joonmyun’s collar.

“Chanyeol, stop!” Jongdae said, immediately hooking both of his arms around one of Chanyeol’s. He was more worried that Joonmyun would hurt Chanyeol than the other way around. “He didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I don’t believe you, Jongdae,” Chanyeol said, in a staring contest with Joonmyun. “Not after the last time! I won’t let that happen again!”

“Chanyeol, it’s not like that! I swear! Chanyeol, I swear on my life! He’s not like that!” Jongdae begged.

The silence in the little apartment was deafening as Chanyeol turned his head to give Jongdae his attention. “Promise?” Chanyeol said, rage replaced with uncertainty and hurt.

Jongdae nodded furiously and heaved a sigh of relief when Chanyeol’s fingers unclenched.

“You wrinkled my shirt,” Joonmyun complained, not seeming phased in the slightest as he smoothed out his collar.

Jongdae reached up to rub his hand down Chanyeol’s back. “I promise, Yeol, it was just a stupid fight at work. Minseok hyung was there, and he helped me! You can ask him, too!”

“Okay,” Chanyeol said, leaning into his touch. “I still don’t like him.”

“You haven’t even spoken,” Jongdae huffed.

“It’s good to know Dae has friends that care about him so much,” Joonmyun said. “Hello, my name is Kim Joonmyun,” he nodded to their small crowd.

Jongin and Sehun said nothing, Kyungsoo shrugged, and Baekhyun gave an ugly scowl.

“I guess that’s my cue,” Joonmyun grinned. “I’ll call you, Jongdae. Oh! And don’t forget to eat, _sweetie_! I bought a lot of calorie-dense foods.”

Jongdae shook his head as Joonmyun practically skipped to the door, blowing him a kiss over his shoulder.

“What the fuck,” Baekhyun deadpanned.

“I can explain?” Jongdae said meekly.

“Go ahead,” Baekhyun challenged.

“We…” Jongdae panicked, “we met at the bar! And we, umm, started talking. And then things just…escalated?”

“You’re dating a stranger!” Baekhyun screamed.

“That’s the point of dating, so the other person isn’t anymore!” Jongdae shot back.

“Your poor face, hyung,” Chanyeol said.

“Sympathy later, Chanyeol! Now, anger!” Baekhyun commanded.

“Which one of you tattled?” Jongdae said, glaring at Sehun and Kyungsoo in turn.

“Don’t turn this around on them!” Baekhyun said. “This is about you! And your secret boyfriend!”

“He’s not--!” Jongdae said, biting his tongue. “He’s not secret,” he said, calming down. “You know about him, don’t you?”

“Be honest, do you need money?” Baekhyun questioned.

“What? Where did that come from?” Jongdae said incredulously.

“I’m not blind, that was one rich motherfucker,” Baekhyun said. “Because if he promised you something, you don’t have to do this. We can help you out!”

Jongdae was silent for a moment, processing his words. “So…it’s that hard to believe that someone like him would like me?” Jongdae said quietly.

“Dae…” Baekhyun said, face falling. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“That’s…exactly what you meant,” Jongdae sighed. “I guess I can’t blame you. I mean…” he rested a hand over his stomach. “Look at me, right?”

Chanyeol was immediately draped over Jongdae’s back, pulling him into an awkward embrace. “Jongdae, you’re the best,” Chanyeol said quietly. “You can have your secret boyfriend if you want. But I he hurts you, I’m going to beat him up.”

“You couldn’t beat up a stuffed animal,” Jongdae muttered.

“I don’t like that you hid this from me,” Baekhyun said threateningly. “So…don’t do it again, okay? I didn’t mean the way it came out before, I was just worried.”

“I know,” Jongdae shrugged.

“So how is he in bed?”

“Shut the hell up, Baekhyun!”


	7. Chapter 7

“Are you sure you should be exercising when your face is still…like that?” Chanyeol asked worriedly, paying more attention to Jongdae than the thirty-pound weight he was half-heartedly curling to his chest.

“Probably not,” Jongdae huffed, struggling to straighten his arms and bench press the combined weight of the metal bar and the small weights slid onto its ends.

“Jongdae,” Chanyeol whined, dropping his own free weight and standing over Jongdae to steal the bar and place it back on its rack.

Jongdae sighed, wincing at the sting as sweat rolled down his face and tickled the stitches under the loosely dressed bandage. “I’m pathetic,” he said, head falling back against the cushioned bench.

“That’s not true!” Chanyeol said. “You’re just…out of practice. And naturally small. It’s going to take some time to build up muscles.”

“Do you think I should be doing something else to build up strength first, or something? Because if I can’t even handle a bit of weight…” Jongdae trailed off, chewing on his lip.

“Well, maybe you can try running with Baek to work up some endurance?” Chanyeol suggested timidly. “Then maybe…this won’t seem like too much when you get tired?”

Jongdae smiled at Chanyeol’s sincerity. “Yeah. I guess I should start fighting a girl away from an elliptical. Maybe with more finesse than Baekhyun.”

The university gym was always packed, with time limits set for areas and machines. It was stifling, even despite the icy air conditioning, the rooms thick with sweat and a constant crowd of bodies.

“Yah, you going to move any time soon?” a larger student wearing a sleeveless shirt said, eyeing Jongdae derisively as his biceps flexed.

“Oh, sorry,” Jongdae said apologetically, shifting off the bench to stand next to Chanyeol, who was now openly glaring.

“You’re just going to leave your sweat there?” the man said incredulously.

“Oh,” Jongdae blinked, frowning. “Sorry, I’ll just—“

“Let’s go, hyung,” Chanyeol said, narrowing his eyes at the other student. “Wipe it yourself.”

The student looked like he was about to argue, but reconsidered when Chanyeol straightened his back and drew himself to his full height.

“Chanyeol, you really didn’t have to do that,” Jongdae said, exasperated, as they managed to find two free machines next to each other. “He wasn’t in the wrong.”

“Sorry,” Chanyeol shrugged, lips jutting out. “I just don’t like it when…you know…”

“I know,” Jongdae smiled weakly, wiping at his forehead with the back of his arm. Chanyeol didn’t used to be so aggressively protective of Jongdae. And normally, he was the most easy-going person in the world. But…

During Jongdae’s first year at school, before he knew anyone other than Baekhyun, something happened.

He’d tested remarkably high for his vocal ability, and so he’d been placed into a higher level vocal performance instruction class than many of his fellow freshmen. Everything was fine. Jongdae loved singing. Even if was difficult to match others who’d had years more of experience, Jongdae felt that he was lucky to be able to learn from the best.

He hadn’t thought it was strange when the professor scheduled extra lessons. He thought he genuinely needed the practice. It was his first semester at school, his first semester away from home, he didn’t have any real friends, and he wanted to do well.

He’d met Chanyeol when they’d accidentally double-booked a practice room. Chanyeol had made a name for himself among freshmen for being able to play any instrument handed to him. Students normally were allowed to focus on only one instrument for their major, but Chanyeol was allowed several. Instead of fighting over the room, Jongdae had told Chanyeol he could have it. Instead of agreeing, Chanyeol had suggested they practice together.

Before Jongdae knew what was happening, he and Chanyeol were already friends, and Chanyeol was introducing him to Kyungsoo, who was Chanyeol’s virtual opposite. It was easy for Chanyeol to make friends in a way that Jongdae seemed to be incapable of doing. Jongdae wasn’t as loud, wasn’t as funny, wasn’t as emotional. Though that was probably why Kyungsoo liked him the most.

Jongdae hadn’t even noticed that anything was strange about his lessons. He’d never taken vocal lessons at such a high level before, and he thought that it was normal for the professor to stand so close, to adjust Jongdae’s posture and let his hands rest there when he was finished. To berate Jongdae until he was at the point of tears, because Jongdae really wasn’t that good anyway, and it was just a fluke that he’d tested well the day of the exam. For things to hurt when the lesson was finally, finally over.

It began to feel wrong when Jongdae began to feel afraid, anxiety creeping into the corners of his everyday schedule and nerves on edge, always waiting for more criticism. But if Jongdae was anything, he was unflinchingly polite, and it didn’t feel right to complain about something that everyone was probably going through. He didn’t have any point of reference, and so it all seemed normal. Painful, but normal.

“I don’t know why you’re always practicing,” Baekhyun had complained when Jongdae continually woke up early in the morning. “You sound great, Dae. More than great! Tell Professor Kim to get over that stick he has up his ass!”

Jongdae had laughed as he packed his bag, even though he felt bad for disturbing his roommate. “Are you kidding, Baek? He’d kill me!”

Jongdae had felt so tired at the end of his first semester. Baekhyun was annoyed that he never had time to hang out anymore. His arms were sore from being grabbed harshly. His voice was strained. He put off eating to practice as much as possible. His grades in his other classes were slipping. He couldn’t sleep, nightmares sending him shooting out of bed, drenched in sweat, hoping he hadn’t woken Baekhyun.

If Chanyeol hadn’t walked in on one of his lessons, Jongdae would probably still be like that, feeling useless and untalented and anxious and depressed. But Chanyeol had booked that particular practice room after Jongdae’s morning lesson. Had peered through the door to see violent hands on Jongdae as Jongdae helplessly wondered what he’d done wrong this time.

“Jongdae?” Chanyeol said, voice on edge as he broke Jongdae from sinking too deep into his thoughts.

“What? Sorry, did you say something?” Jongdae said, shaking his head to clear it.

“I was just asking about…your boyfriend,” Chanyeol mumbled. “He’s nice to you, right?”

“Yeah…” Jongdae said lightly, two different faces flashing strangely in his mind. “He, umm, keeps having food sent to the apartment because he’s worried about my eating. Kyungsoo’s really happy about it, anyway,” Jongdae huffed in amusement.

Chanyeol bit down on his bottom lip as he turned his head away, beginning to fiddle with the exercise equipment. Jongdae knew it would only be a matter of time before—

“Hyung, I just—“ Chanyeol said, scratching at his head. “Doesn’t that seem controlling to you?”

“Is it controlling when you force Baekhyun to eat all the leftovers?” Jongdae said pointedly, fighting with the leg press he was sitting on.

“You know it’s not the same!” Chanyeol said. “That guy has money, and he looks important, and I…I want you to be happy, Jongdae. I don’t want someone…doing something to you, and then you feel like you can’t say anything because…because they’re in a position over you, and…I’m _worried_. I really couldn’t take it if something happened again, and…” Chanyeol broke off, eyes shining.

“Yeollie,” Jongdae said, resting his hand on Chanyeol’s knee. “I’m not the same person I was back then. I’m not as naïve, and I’m not as willing to stay quiet if someone does something to me that I don’t like,” Jongdae said. “You can’t scare off all the boys that like me, _dad_.”

Chanyeol pouted, pushing Jongdae’s hand away. “Why can’t you like Minseok hyung? He’s nice! He’s not old!”

“I am, actually!”

Jongdae and Chanyeol turned to see a smiling Minseok wave at them, arms incredibly muscular as he crossed them over his chest.

“I’m twenty-eight, you know,” Minseok said mischievously, raising a finger to press against his cheek.

“H-hyung!” Chanyeol said, embarrassed, scrambling to his feet.

“I see you’re taking my words to heart,” Minseok said, turning his attention to Jongdae. “How’s your cheek? It’s looking better.”

“It is! It’s healing slowly but surely,” Jongdae said, an odd feeling of nervousness fluttering in his stomach. How much of their conversation had he overheard? “How are you, hyung? I tried texting, but…I guess we never caught each other at a good time?” Jongdae said uncertainly.

“Oh, you know, grad school is killer,” Minseok shook his head. “It’s my own fault for getting a third degree, though. Guess I just like learning too much!”

“I can’t even stand spending an extra three hours at school,” Chanyeol muttered. “Wait! You’re twenty-eight?!”

“So, you…have a boyfriend, now?” Minseok asked, ignoring Chanyeol’s exclamation.

“Chanyeol, would you mind filling my bottle with water?” Jongdae said quickly, pressing it into Chanyeol’s chest.

“Okay…” Chanyeol said warily, looking between them. Turning his back on them, he began weaving his way through the mass of people and machines.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Jongdae hissed quickly. “Not really! Look, it…it’s complicated, umm…”

Minseok sighed, running a hand through his sweaty hair and pushing it out of his eyes. “Why did you have to get involved with them, Jongdae? Do you know what you’re risking? What they could do to you?”

Jongdae blinked. “Them? You know?”

“About Yixing and Kim Joonmyun?” Minseok smiled wryly. “I figured they were both involved when he kidnapped you at the hospital.”

“But you said you didn’t—“

“Yixing is my cousin,” Minseok said, sitting down on Chanyeol’s abandoned exercise machine. “All our lives we were enemies, because Yixing was the perfect, obedient heir and my parents wanted me to be. I never wanted that, but we somehow still don’t get along,” Minseok sighed.

“Oh,” Jongdae said. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s how things are when you have a family like mine,” Minseok shrugged. “But things are complicated now, and I’m really glad I’m not in his position. I just go to school and overeducate myself until father eventually asks me to take over his branch.”

“What do you mean, you’re glad you’re not in his position?” Jongdae said.

Minseok frowned, lowering his voice, “I’m only telling you this because I want you to be safe, Jongdae. And to be safe, you need to know everything.” His brow furrowed as he narrowed his eyes. “Yixing and Joonmyun, they should hate each other. They’re the heirs of rival groups, so it doesn’t make sense, right? But I learned something from my father.” His voice lowered even further, and Jongdae had to lean in closer to hear what he was saying. “They’re trying to legitimize things. Get rid of the old way and do everything aboveboard. Completely legal. And to make sure they aren’t killed by their own families for doing that, they’ve both put together contingency plans. If either of them die, the entirety of the property of the dead one is transferred to the one remaining alive.”

Jongdae frowned as he took in the information. Deep down, he’d known exactly what kinds of people Yixing and Joonmyun were. He’d just hoped, somehow, that there was an alternative explanation. One that didn’t involve guns and families and feuds. Because he found himself liking them. Liking, embarrassingly, how they were so willing to take care of him, even if they too often went overboard.

“They aren’t together often, because if they both die at the same time, then the whole thing falls apart,” Minseok said, waving his hand. “When they’re together, they endanger everyone around them, because they become prime targets for people who don’t want to bring the families into the light.”

“That’s…why I got shot,” Jongdae muttered, heart dropping into his stomach. “Because they were both…”

“It’s incredibly stupid of both of them. All it takes is a second of betrayal, and then one of them could have both empires. It’s honestly a miracle they haven’t tried to kill each other yet.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t make sense,” Jongdae whispered, thoughts reeling.

“Though I’d expect nothing less from my faint-hearted cousin,” Minseok continued. “It’s Kim Joonmyun you really have to keep your eyes on. He’s dangerous, Jongdae. Really dangerous. If you want to keep living, I suggest you stay away from him.”

Jongdae worried at his bottom lip, chest feeling tight and uncomfortable. “But they just show up, hyung,” Jongdae said helplessly. “I can’t control when they’re around, they just…keep appearing.”

Minseok watched him for a moment, a dangerous look flashing in his normally gentle eyes. “You really can’t like me, Jongdae?”

Jongdae’s breath caught in his throat. Could he like Minseok? He wanted to. That was one thing that actually would make sense. He just wasn’t sure how. He wasn’t sure he was capable of liking Minseok in the same way that Minseok liked him. He didn’t know what to say.

“Hyung, I brought your water,” Chanyeol said, thrusting the bottle into Jongdae’s chest as he looked between Jongdae and Minseok nervously.

Minseok sighed, standing from the machine and rubbing his hands on his thighs. “I should go, I have class in a few hours. I’ll see you around.”

“Wait, Minseok hyung—“ Jongdae tried, voice tinged with desperation.

“I’m sorry I pushed it,” Minseok said, shaking his head. “I know this is a lot to take in. I’ll keep giving you time, Jongdae, because I know you’re worth waiting for.” With a nod to Chanyeol, Minseok turned on his heel and left.

“Wow,” Chanyeol blinked. “He really likes you, huh?”

“I…guess so…” Jongdae sighed, rubbing his unhurt cheek with his hand. “I just…I wish I felt the same way.”

“You don’t like him?” Chanyeol said, eyes softening in understanding. “You looked uncomfortable, so I interrupted. Should I not have?”

“I don’t know,” Jongdae despaired. “I don’t know, and it’s driving me crazy. Nothing seems to make sense anymore.”

“Well, let’s just exercise until you’re too tired to think about it,” Chanyeol said, clapping Jongdae on the shoulder. “Honestly, Jongdae, so many people are after you lately.”

“Yeah,” Jongdae groaned, fighting to lift the bar of the exercise machine with his legs. “Lucky me.”

 

///////////////////////////////

 

Jongdae groaned and turned over onto his side as the phone Joonmyun had given him vibrated on top of his night stand. He reached blindly for it, knocking a few things off of the wooden surface as his fingers finally closed around it.

“Six in the morning?” Jongdae grumbled. “Really?”

Unlocking the phone, Jongdae’s eyes blearily read the new text message.

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_Do you want pancakes_

“Huh?” Jongdae sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

_Fr: Jongdae_

_Who is this?_

He lay with his eyes closed for a few moments, tempted to just fall back asleep.

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_It’s Yixing. Do you want pancakes_

Jongdae huffed in amusement at the oddly formal style of the text, hesitating as his fingers hovered over the keyboard.

_Fr: Jongdae_

_When, hyung?_

The phone immediately buzzed in reply.

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_I’m outside your building. Be down in ten_

Jongdae gaped at the phone, feeling more awake as his heart kicked into gear. He nearly rolled out of bed as his sore muscles protested the movement, dragging his feet to the bathroom and splashing water on his face. Frantically, he pulled a shirt on, wincing when the fabric brushed his stitches.

He paused with one leg in his jeans and the second poised to go in the other hole. Why on earth was he in such a hurry to meet someone that demanded it? He was almost disappointed in himself. He thought he’d gotten better. He thought he’d at least…

Sighing, Jongdae sat on the edge of his bed and slowly finished pulling his jeans on.

_Fr: Jongdae_

_It’s not nice to command people to do what you say, hyung. I was sleeping, you know?_

Pursing his lips in nervousness, Jongdae sent the message.

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_Sorry, parking spot said I could only stay here for 30 minutes and I spent 20 deciding if I should text you. Is it not a good time. Are you turning down free pancakes_

Jongdae felt the smile curling his lips as he read the message again and again. It fell when he remembered Minseok’s words. He should probably be staying as far away from Yixing as possible. It wasn’t safe, and…and…

_Fr: Jongdae_

_I’m heading downstairs now_

Jongdae shivered as the cool morning air bathed his face in a light mist, squinting into the still-dark parking lot to look for Yixing.

“Jongdae?” Yixing said, standing straight from where he’d been leaning against his car, a different one than the one he and Joonmyun had used when they were together.

“Good morning, hyung,” Jongdae said, stepping over to the car and sliding into the passenger seat when Yixing unlocked it.

Yixing didn’t immediately start the car, inspecting Jongdae’s face carefully from his position in the driver’s seat. “Good, it looks better,” he nodded, as if to himself. “Does it still hurt?”

“Only when I touch it,” Jongdae shrugged.

“Well, don’t do that,” Yixing said, turning the key in the ignition as Jongdae bristled slightly. “Umm…you’re okay with pancakes, right? I assumed, but I guess I shouldn’t have. What kind of punk kid doesn’t like pancakes?”

“ _Me_? A punk?” Jongdae said, baffled.

“It’s an expression,” Yixing said sourly, fiddling with the radio. “Pancakes or no pancakes?” he demanded.

“Pancakes are fine,” Jongdae said docilely. “But why…now?”

“I’m in the office all day,” Yixing sighed, scratching at his neck. “And I wanted some damn pancakes before that, is it a crime?”

“No,” Jongdae said quickly, shaking his head as his eyes fell to his lap. “I was just wondering.”

“Sorry,” Yixing said gruffly, surprising Jongdae. “Haven’t had coffee yet. I just…wanted some company. Somebody normal.”

“I don’t mind,” Jongdae said. “Normal is hard to find, sometimes. I get that. When things just get…exhausting.”

Yixing was silent for a moment, letting a slow song on the radio fill the space between them.

“Hyung,” Jongdae said.

“Hmm?” Yixing grunted, eyes on the road.

“Ah…” Jongdae began. _Do you think we should stop seeing each other? What is it that you want from me? Haven’t you repaid your debt already?_ “Are you doing this because you and Joonmyun hyung owe me something?”

Yixing’s eyes widened minutely in surprise at the question before returning to their neutral, sleepy-looking state. “I don’t owe you pancakes,” Yixing muttered.

Jongdae figured that was the best he was going to get.


	8. Chapter 8

Jongdae’s semester vocal assessment was coming up, and it felt like he was vibrating out of his own skin with the desperate need to practice.

He rushed through his assignments in all of his other classes, work so sloppy that it made him disgusted with himself. The only reason he stayed hydrated was in consideration for his voice, barely able to choke down granola bars as he combed over his sheet music. Occasionally, the bittersweet memory of pancakes and awkward silences intruded on his furious practicing, giving him a moment to breathe as he became absorbed in the recollection.

“At this point, you’re self-sabotaging,” Kyungsoo said critically, sliding a plate piled with noodles in front of Jongdae as he chewed nervously on his thumb at the kitchen table. “You do this every time, but you always pass. Eat that.”

“Thanks, Soo,” Jongdae said absently, sighing as he rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I know. I know I do. I just can’t seem to stop myself.” He knew that a lot of the blame rested with his traumatic first semester. Even though he’d gotten much better about taking care of himself, the imperfection seemed to be ingrained into his mind. “How’s your practice going?”

“Fine,” Kyungsoo shrugged. “I’m going to do my best, and that’s all I can do. I might ask Baekhyun to listen in before the exam, he’s good at pointing out mistakes.”

“I don’t know if he’s good at it, he’s just loud at it,” Jongdae said, smiling wryly as he nibbled at a noodle. “Besides, didn’t you tell him he had the breathing of a bullfrog last semester?”

“It’s not my fault he was croaking, and he came out of that practice a better singer,” Kyungsoo said, sliding into the chair across from Jongdae.

“I’m jealous,” Jongdae said, the bitter words slipping out before he could shove them back down where they belonged.

“Jealous?” Kyungsoo said, quirking an eyebrow, lips pressing together in what looked like disdain. “Explain.”

“I…” Jongdae sighed, playing with his chopsticks. “You can just say what you’re thinking, Soo. You don’t worry about other people, you can just…be normal and not feel guilty about everything.”

“Pushing aside the fact that you just called me selfish, I don’t think having a lot of empathy is a bad thing. I don’t understand it, but I accept that it’s part of who you are. I just think you take it too far. At some point, there has to be a line. A cut off. Otherwise people take advantage.” Kyungsoo shoved a large bite of noodles into his mouth, looking at Jongdae like he was daring him to disagree.

“I think we can both agree that finding the line is my biggest problem,” Jongdae said balefully.

“How about you just start asking yourself, ‘Would Kyungsoo care?’ If not, don’t do it,” Kyungsoo said.

“I’ll try it out,” Jongdae huffed in amusement.

“Would Kyungsoo punch someone in the face for this?” Kyungsoo continued. “Would Kyungsoo do this without some kind of payment in return?”

“You’ve always been tougher than me, though,” Jongdae said, offering Kyungsoo a half smile. “I guess I’ll try to channel Do Kyungsoo from now on.”

“Look out, world,” Kyungsoo chuckled, baritone voice deepening into an amused rumble.

Jongdae sighed again, pushing away from the table. “I should go get dressed for work.”

“You barely touched your food,” Kyungsoo said disapprovingly.

“Yah, I’m still older than you, and I can take care of myself,” Jongdae said.

“Questionable,” Kyungsoo said.

Jongdae frowned.

“I made this for you, and you’re going to ignore it?” Kyungsoo pressed.

“I…” Jongdae said, voice wavering as he glanced down at the plate. “Okay,” he conceded, sitting back down.

Kyungsoo shook his head, watching as Jongdae quickly scooped noodles into his mouth. Jongdae could feel the tangible pressure of his judgmental stare.

After eating a few more bites of food, Jongdae hurried to his room to change into his work clothes, a pair of dark jeans and a button-up. Luhan liked things to be more casual than formal, saying he didn’t want to attract the “wrong kind of jerks” to his bar, but also didn’t want it to turn into a complete dive.

Jongdae didn’t understand Luhan a lot of the time, but he wasn’t being paid to understand, so he just accepted things for what they were.

As he shoved his phone and a few bills into his pocket, Jongdae let his eyes settle on the wrinkled napkin resting on the corner of his desk. There was a stick figure scribbled over its surface, minimalist face angry as the pancake it had intended to swallow fell to the ground. Jongdae didn’t know why he’d kept it. Maybe it was because of the shy look on Yixing’s face as he’d nudged it over to Jongdae’s side of the table.

Jongdae didn’t really understand Yixing either. Maybe that was a sign that he should stop putting any time into his psychology courses.

The bar was packed when Jongdae entered, having to squeeze through a deep crowd of people who were bobbing to the electronic music. Jongdae was surprised at the sheer volume, because it had always been more of a bar than a dance club, but it looked like the roles were reversed that night.

“Jongdae!” Luhan called, panting, when he spotted Jongdae making his way to the bar. “Get your ass on stage and sing something slow to calm these heathens the fuck down! It’s starting to smell like a locker room in here!”

Jongdae blinked, startled at the command, but nodded in acknowledgment, peeling off his jacket and throwing it behind the bar. Luhan looked oddly frazzled, forehead sweaty and hair frizzing at the ends. “Are you sure? Just cutting the music off might lose you some—“ Jongdae tried.

“Just do it, Jongdae!” Luhan hissed, filling a pint glass with beer and then hurrying to take more orders.

Jongdae sighed, turning his head to stare uncertainly at the small stage, an ocean of people between Jongdae and his destination.

Jongdae pushed as gently as he could through the throng, a litany of apologies spilling from his lips as he stepped on some feet and bumped into some shoulders. He heaved in a breath as his shoulder struck the edge of the stage, inching along it and to the right until his shoe hit the bottom stair. Climbing up, he scurried to the simple sound system and switched it to karaoke mode.

The bass-heavy music cut off, and the crowd groaned collectively in a wave of complaint. Jongdae’s hands grew slick with nervousness as the muttering grew in volume. Jongdae fumbled with the sound and the microphone before he took center stage, trying to tune out the discontent.

As he opened his mouth and the first sweet note sounded, someone from below began to boo him loudly. Jongdae faltered, eyes widening. No one had ever booed him before. And while rationally, he knew it was because they wanted club music, it still stung.  But if he ever wanted to sing for real, he knew he would have to take criticism, warranted or not. And besides, he really didn’t want Luhan to fire him. Again.

Swallowing, he tried again, putting a little more effort into his energy. He couldn’t give them electronic, but he knew a few rock songs that might make do. He turned to the machine and quickly found a good song, familiar with a lot of the tracks as he often used it to practice.

Still, a few shouted complaints and insults that sent his heart plummeting into his intestines. His voice came out rough with insecurity, eyes pricking as his mind blanked on the lyrics. Why was he such a loser? Why couldn’t he even do the one thing he was actually good at?

His eyes found Luhan at the bar, where the man had paused in his furious serving to watch Jongdae. Surprising Jongdae, Luhan offered him two thumbs up, tilting his head and smiling cutely. It was unexpected, but it somehow fortified Jongdae, who felt his confidence return like it had never left. Like it had never been stolen from him.

Jongdae took a deep breath, determined to get it right, when another anonymous person yelled, “We don’t want your shitty music, put the real stuff back on!” He didn’t know what, exactly, about that sentence made him so angry. But something inside of him snapped. It was a flood of heat through his veins, burning away the prior discomfort to be replaced with a sudden, seething rage.

“Yah!” Jongdae shouted into the microphone, voice filled with such venom that he almost didn’t recognize himself. His blood was nearly boiling at the insult to the music. Ah, that was it. Jongdae was so passionate about the music, all music, that having it insulted right in front of him made him furious. They could insult him all they wanted, but they couldn’t touch the music. “Shut the hell up or get out!”

There was a resounding silence as they all stared up at him, he guessed more from drunken confusion and irritation than any real shock. A few people did leave, grumbling as they scoffed and cleared the floor. Jongdae turned stiffly to the karaoke machine and restarted the song. Out of spite, he put his everything into the rock song, holding notes with strength and even throwing in a few ad-libs.

He maintained the final note until he was out of air, chest heaving and brow sweaty from the effort and concentration. He even got a few claps as his reward, but luckily his cheeks were already flushed, hiding the blush that pushed at the skin under his cheeks. There were fewer people on the dance floor than before, and while part of him felt insulted that they’d left because of him, it was what Luhan had wanted anyway.

Jongdae sang one more song before switching the sound system back on auto, playing the usual nightly tracks, lowering the volume slightly. Tiredly, he made his way back to the bar, slumping into a stool and letting his forehead bang against the counter.

“Ugh,” Jongdae groaned, feeling like he’d run a marathon. “I just did that.”

“U-umm…” an unfamiliar voice asked. “Are you okay?”

Jongdae sighed and lifted his head, smile already plastered on. “I’m fine!” he said, eyeing the tall, tanned man. His eyes looked tired and weepy, his cheekbones high, and his hair poorly dyed blond. A few piercings lined his ears, as well as his left eyebrow. “Ugh, are _you_ okay?”

“Tao cries at everything,” Luhan said, slamming a glass of water in front of Jongdae. “Here. Drink up and then get back to work, you’re still on the clock.”

“Wow, thanks,” Jongdae said, rolling his eyes as he nevertheless sipped at the cool water.

“I thought you w-were good,” the man Luhan had called Tao said, fidgeting in his seat. For someone who looked so intimidating, his behavior was almost funny to watch.

“Thanks,” Jongdae smiled brightly.

“Mao,” Tao muttered, eyes widening.

“Hmm?” Jongdae said curiously.

“Oh, n-nothing,” the man shook his head quickly, turning back to his drink and lowering his head.

As Jongdae moved to stand, bracing himself against the counter, he jumped in surprise when an arm reached around him and dropped a small square box in the open space between his hands. “What the--!” Jongdae said, heart doing a backflip as he lurched in his seat, turning his head to the side as Joonmyun and his smiling face slid onto a stool next to him.

“Good evening, Jongdae!” Joonmyun grinned, resting his head on a propped-up hand. As always, he was immaculately dressed in a snug sweater and black jeans, hair swept to the side and styled perfectly.

“What is this?” Jongdae said, looking suspiciously at the box.

“I was in town today, and when I saw this, I thought of you!” Joonmyun said, reaching out to pat Jongdae’s upper arm. “Go on, open it!”

Jongdae’s first instinct was to refuse the box completely. His second was unbearable curiosity at what was inside of it. “I really should get back to work,” Jongdae hedged, worrying at his bottom lip.

“Oh, Lulu and I are old friends, he won’t mind!” Joonmyun waved off. Jongdae looked around, and it seemed as though Luhan had disappeared somewhere, because he was no longer behind the bar. “Pretty please, Jongdae?” he said, pouting his lips. It was an odd sight on a man who had the power to kill people and enough money to get away with it.

Jongdae cautiously lifted the lid of the small, flat box, pushing away the tissue paper layered on top. “Hyung!” he gasped, staring wide-eyed at the shiny musical quaver note on a chain.

“Do you like it?” Joonmyun said hopefully. “I knew you were a music student, but I heard you sing just now, and—You’re so fantastic, Jongdae! Just wonderful!”

“I…I love it, but—“ Jongdae protested.

“Then it’s already yours,” Joonmyun said, picking up the necklace and hanging it around Jongdae’s neck, the long chain making it easy to slip over his head. Jongdae had to fight back a major cringe at the sudden movement near his face. “It looks like it was made for you,” Joonmyun nodded, eyes flicking to the scab on Jongdae’s cheek.

“But this is too much!” Jongdae said, fingers tracing the smooth metal. “It was expensive, right?”

“Nonsense, I won it at the arcade,” Joonmyun said, eyes sparkling.

“Where they gift wrap all of their prizes, I’m sure,” Jongdae said wryly.

“I’m a repeat customer,” Joonmyun shrugged.

“But I can’t…” Jongdae sighed, stomach twisting with an indescribable feeling of inadequacy. “I don’t have anything to offer you.”

“Oh, Jongdae,” Joonmyun said, lips curling upwards. “You have so much to offer me.”

Jongdae swallowed, letting the implications of that statement sink in. Joonmyun really was handsome, but things were already so confusing with Minseok and Yixing, and Jongdae had more issues than the stack of Sports Illustrated in the back of Chanyeol’s closet…

“Your voice, I mean,” Joonmyun said, amused. “Will you sing for me sometime? When you aren’t drowned out by a crowd?”

“Oh, umm, sure,” Jongdae said, rubbing at his uninjured cheek in embarrassment.

“I’ll look forward to it, then,” Joonmyun said warmly. “You know, I’m starting to change my mind about that plastic surgeon,” he said suddenly. “You look good with that scar. Though, to be fair, you’d probably look good with anything.”

“Shut up,” Jongdae muttered, raising his hand to cover the scar.

“I’m being serious!” Joonmyun said. “Somehow, with your curled little lips and your ridiculous cheekbones, it adds character.” He frowned, scanning Jongdae’s body. “But how is it that you’ve not gained any weight? Do you not like the food?”

“No, no! That’s…that’s not it!” Jongdae said quickly. “I really appreciate it, and I like eating it, normally, but…well, it’s exam time. I always get a little pathological around my vocal exam,” Jongdae explained. “And…” he said, working up his courage, “it’s not your job to tell me what to look like, anyway…so…” he trailed off. “Sorry I’m not good enough,” he added, more quietly.

Jongdae jerked as fingers pressed under his chin briefly, raising his head up. “Jongdae, you’re perfect,” Joonmyun said seriously. “And I’m not just saying that because I owe you a bullet wound. I’m saying that because you’re handsome, and you’re funny, and you’re interesting, and you’re talented. People are lucky if they get two of those. I mean, I happen to have all four, so I wouldn’t know what it’s like, but you know what I mean.”

Jongdae laughed at Joonmyun’s self-praise.

“I only say things like that because I want you to be healthy, and the doctor said you weren’t. It’s nothing to do with my personal opinion of your fitness or your appearance,” Joonmyun said seriously.

“I’ve been going to the gym,” Jongdae said, brow furrowing. “I don’t think I’ll ever be as giant as my friend, but…I mean…I’m doing okay now.”

“Oh?” Joonmyun said, intrigued, gaze now much more piercing as it roved over Jongdae’s clothed torso.

“Yah,” Jongdae complained, feeling exposed and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t ‘yah’ your hyung,” Joonmyun chided, scooting his stool nearer, bringing his face closer to Jongdae’s.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing?” Jongdae said nervously.

“There must be something wrong with my eyes,” Joonmyun mused, “because I can’t take them off of you.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Jongdae groaned.

“Is it?” Joonmyun grinned. “But did you like it?”

Jongdae did like it. He liked Joonmyun too much, especially with Minseok’s warning swirling around his brain. Speaking of, “Are you sure it’s safe to be here?” Jongdae questioned.

“What?” Joonmyun blinked, taken aback. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because you’re…you’re important, right? So, I don’t want anything bad to happen. There are just—there are a lot of people here, so,” Jongdae worried.

“Jongdae, are you worried about me?” Joonmyun said, tone teasing but eyes soft. His hand was suddenly hovering over Jongdae’s cheek, and Jongdae couldn’t help the minute flinch that time. Joonmyun’s gaze hardened slightly before he rested his thumb under Jongdae’s wound, tracing the skin lightly. “That’s very sweet, but I assure you that I’m well-protected. Don’t waste a second worrying about me.” He dropped his hand, bring it down to meet the other where they folded together on top of the bar. “I’ve just become more concerned about who’s been hitting you.”

“What?” Jongdae said, eyes widening and heart stuttering. There was no way someone could know that. There was no way Joonmyun would be able to strip him that bare on a whim, peel away layers of skin to find his most embarrassing weak point.

“I’ve never tried to touch your face before. But tonight, every time I get close and you aren’t looking for it, you flinch away from me. It is not from surprise. It is from expectation. That’s a learned behavior,” Joonmyun said, lips pressed tightly together.

“No one’s been…doing that,” Jongdae said, swallowing. “I just don’t like hands near my face.”

“You’re lying to me,” Joonmyun said lightly, and Jongdae felt his stomach turn inside out. It was fear, and anxiety, and…for whatever reason, he just didn’t want to disappoint Joonmyun. “I don’t like that.”

Jongdae frowned, eyes falling to the floor, staring at the dust and the dropped bar snacks. “It used to be a problem,” Jongdae finally said. “It isn’t anymore.”

There was a moment of silence before Joonmyun said anything in return. “I believe you. But I think you’re wrong. I think it still is a problem, Jongdae. Not only because you’re still hurting, but also because that person is probably still alive.”

Jongdae’s blood ran cold.

“Am I correct? This sorry excuse for a person is unluckily still breathing?” Joonmyun pressed.

“Hyung,” Jongdae pleaded, “please don’t…don’t do anything, okay? It doesn’t matter, I’m fine now! So, please--”

“Did they listen when you begged like this?” Joonmyun said softly. “Did it help? Or did they just hit you anyway?”

Jongdae choked, his voice caught in his throat and the blood draining from his face. “Hyung…”

“I didn’t mean to cause you stress,” Joonmyun said, deceivingly sweet smile in place once more. “I should go. You have a few hours left of work, after all.” He stood from the stool, brushing at invisible lint on the thighs of his jeans.

“Hyung, please,” Jongdae whispered, all he could manage as he, too, stood and used the counter to support his suddenly unsteady weight.

“Don’t worry about anything, Jongdae,” Joonmyun grinned. “Hyung will take of everything. Hyung will take care of you.”

_“Though I’d expect nothing less from my faint-hearted cousin,” Minseok continued. “It’s Kim Joonmyun you really have to keep your eyes on. He’s dangerous, Jongdae. Really dangerous. If you want to keep living, I suggest you stay away from him.”_

Jongdae stared as the memory of Minseok’s words came to the forefront of his mind. He was beginning to understand what Minseok meant. Joonmyun was dangerous.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he breathed, making his way unsteadily to the back of the bar.


	9. Chapter 9

Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead as he tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. It was a usual occurrence, the insomnia, but it wasn’t usually because he was worried that his gangster hyung was going to murder someone. Minseok had said they were trying to make things legitimate, but Jongdae knew that old habits didn’t just go away once you said it out loud. He knew that more than anyone.

Every few minutes, his thoughts would drift to the phone on his desk and the contact he’d labeled “Unknown Number” as a joke. Jongdae hadn’t heard anything from Joonmyun in a few days, but that only made him even more anxious, as he had no idea what the other man would do.

A year ago, when Chanyeol had seen… _that_ …he’d forced Jongdae to report it. Jongdae hadn’t wanted to, and he knew now that it was because he’d been practically brainwashed. But back then, it had felt like he was betraying something special. Chanyeol forcing him to tell someone had been the right thing to do. Except it hadn’t left him with a sense of much justice in the world when, after the investigation was closed, Professor Kim had simply chosen to transfer to another university.

He didn’t even get reprimanded or disciplined. He just chose to leave, because Chanyeol had photo evidence and threatened to ruin his reputation. And then Jongdae had the label of troublemaker permanently stamped on his file, because he even brought up the issue in the first place. The world really wasn’t fair sometimes.

Rolling onto his side with a sigh, Jongdae was reaching for the phone before he even knew he was doing it.

_Fr: Jongdae_

_Yixing hyung?_

It was in the early, early hours of the morning, and Jongdae wasn’t really expecting an immediate reply, so the quick buzzing of the phone in his hand startled him.

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_What’s wrong_

Jongdae hesitated.

_Fr: Jongdae_

_Why do you think something is wrong?_

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_Coming events cast their shadows before them_

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_I’m not weird that’s a proverb_

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_Clearly something is wrong what is it_

_Fr: Jongdae_

_Have you talked to Joonmyun hyung?_

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_As a rule I try to avoid it why_

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_Did he do something again_

Jongdae was already regretting starting this conversation, but it was too late now, as Yixing continued his persistent string of texts.

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_Jongdae answer me_

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_I know where you live_

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_Kim Jongdae_

Jongdae sighed as he tried to formulate a response without risking Yixing also going on a murderous rampage. Would it be better to just tell him the reason? Lying hadn’t worked out very well so far, and besides, he was a terrible liar. Being an okay human being was really inconvenient at times.

_Fr: Jongdae_

_I’ll tell you but you have to promise not to get mad or do anything crazy okay_

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_What_

_Fr: Jongdae_

_Promise!_

_Fr: Unknown Number_

_I promise_

_Fr: Jongdae_

_So…there used to be a person…at school…who didn’t treat me well. They transferred, and everything’s fine, but Joonmyun found out, and I’m afraid he’s going to hurt somebody._

Jongdae pressed send with nervous fingers. He waited a few minutes, but there was nothing, and he felt his eyelids sliding closed.

He jerked awake when the phone began to buzz, pressing the green answer button in a half-panicked, half-asleep state. “Hello? What?” he said breathlessly.

“I’m going to need more of an explanation than you can send in a fucking text message,” Yixing’s blunt voice said.

“Oh,” Jongdae said tiredly. “Well, I wrote what happened, so I don’t know what else to say.”

“Maybe it’s the language barrier, but ‘didn’t treat me well,’ can mean a lot of things. What did it mean for you?” Yixing said.

“Hyung…” Jongdae sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Maybe Yixing heard the pain in his voice, or maybe he didn’t, but either way he didn’t push it, for which Jongdae was eternally grateful. “Why do you think Joonmyun is going to hurt someone?”

“Because, he…he had this _look_. In his eyes. It was…it was scary, and…I asked him to leave it alone, but he didn’t listen to me, he just said he would take care of it. And now I haven’t been able to sleep for _days_ because I’m worried about—“

“I’ll talk to him,” Yixing said, voice scratchy.

“Thanks,” Jongdae breathed, resting a hand over his chest. He didn’t speak for a moment, overwhelmed with relief.

“Jongdae?” Yixing said. “Are you still awake?”

“Yeah,” Jongdae mumbled.

“We’re supposed to be making your life better, from this debt,” Yixing huffed. “It seems that we only bring trouble.”

Jongdae frowned, unsure of what to say. “I…I mean, I like it when both of you visit…” Jongdae stuttered. “I do like you, I just…I don’t want to have to worry that somebody’s going to end up d-dead because I say the wrong thing in front of you. That’s too much for me.”

“Breathe, Jongdae,” Yixing said, voice more gentle than Jongdae had ever heard it.

“Sorry…” Jongdae sighed deeply. “Minseok said—“

“Kim Minseok?” Yixing interrupted, voice dark.

“Y-yeah,” Jongdae said hesitantly, swallowing to wet his suddenly dry throat. “He said he was your cousin—“

Yixing sighed, breath making the call sound like static, “…Only by marriage,” Yixing said dourly. “Look, you shouldn’t trust that troublemaker. He acts all…zhènɡ yì de…but he’s really just like the rest of them.”

“Funny, he said I shouldn’t trust you, either.” Jongdae was pretty sure Yixing could never find out that Minseok liked him. Things were already close enough to bloodshed as it was. “I feel like I owe him like you and Joonmyun hyung owe me. You don’t even know how many times he’s helped me out.”

“Be careful you do not say that in front of him,” Yixing said darkly. “He will take your words to heart. And he will not let them be forgotten.”

Jongdae felt his breath catch at the surprisingly bleak warning. “Yixing hyung…why is everything that comes out of your mouth so worrisome? I’m getting really sick of all this anxiety!”

“Ah…” Yixing said. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“I know…” Jongdae sighed yet again. “But, have you tried…getting along with him? Minseok hyung is actually really nice, and he even told me he wished you guys could get along!” Okay, not exactly, but it wasn’t a complete and utter, total lie. Just a little bit.

“He…said that?” Yixing said.

“He said…that your families pitted you against each other, but he never wanted to be the heir. I really think that maybe you should just actually talk to each other,” Jongdae said. “What’s the harm in that?”

“I’ll think about it,” Yixing muttered. “But don’t get too fucking excited, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jongdae said, amused. He was beginning to think that Yixing swore just to make himself sound tougher, rather than an actual desire to curse.

“Jongdae,” Yixing said suddenly. “No one is hurting you right now, right? You aren’t lying about that? You know that I…that we would do anything to stop that from happening. If you told me, no one would have to die. I could get to them before Joonmyun. But you have to tell me.”

Jongdae’s fingers spasmed where they gripped his phone. It felt like a low blow, somehow. “It was a long time ago,” Jongdae said carefully. “There’s…no one is doing anything to me, except for that recent string of bad luck.”

“Okay,” Yixing said, and Jongdae could picture him nodding him curtly. “I believe you. And I will speak with Joonmyun. Please, stop worrying, and get some sleep.”

“Easier said than done,” Jongdae said softly.

“Will it be easier if I swear to you that I will do all that is in my power to stop Joonmyun from hurting anyone, if that is what he intends to do?” Yixing said seriously.

“Yeah,” Jongdae said, an edge of uncertainty creeping into his words. “I think so.”

“Then I swear it,” Yixing said. “Goodnight, Jongdae.”

 

/////////////////////

 

 Jongdae cracked one eye open as arms encircled his waist and another, larger body snuggled up behind him in his bed. “Sehunnie?” Jongdae guessed, blinking tiredly. Too thin for Chanyeol, too touchy for Jongin, too tall for anyone else.

“Soo hyung said your assessment was finished,” Sehun mumbled into his back, deep voice resonating against his skin. “You feel better?”

“Mmm,” Jongdae grunted, letting his head fall back down on his pillow and his eyes slide shut again.

Sehun’s arms squeezed tighter as he spooned Jongdae, breath tickling the back of Jongdae’s neck. “Sleep, hyung. I’ll make sure you don’t have bad dreams.”

Jongdae could only make noises in reply, already out of it again.

He felt that he was really lucky to pass, considering how trashy he’d treated his voice the past week. He wasn’t being graded against others, he was being assessed against his own past performance, and he was finding it harder and harder to make improvements. It wasn’t because he was perfect, or anything, just that he’d hit a rut and didn’t know how to get any better. He would have to work extra hard next semester.

And, maybe worst of all, he had the rest of his finals next week, and he hadn’t even begun to study for everything. He was doomed.

“Hyung, you’re thinking too loud,” Sehun grumbled.

“Sorry, it’s a habit,” Jongdae mumbled, reaching an arm behind him to card his fingers through Sehun’s hair. “How’d dancing go, Hunnie?”

“It was okay,” Sehun said softly, and Jongdae could feel him shrug his shoulders. “I think we passed fine. Somebody tripped and fell, so at least we looked good in comparison.”

Jongdae wanted to laugh at the same time as he felt bad for whoever had fallen.

“If it went okay, then why are we cuddling?” Jongdae asked, words slurring together as he struggled to stay conscious.

“Am I bothering you?” Sehun asked uncertainly, hold loosening.

“No,” Jongdae said quickly. “Warm.” The apartment was always freezing in the winter, because they didn’t want to waste all their money paying for heat. Sometimes twelve blankets just wasn’t enough to cut it.

“I’m sad you’re just using me, hyung,” Sehun huffed.

“You’re only here cause my bed…bigger…” Jongdae managed.

“I don’t understand why dorm beds are so small,” Sehun said. “Hyung, it’s not like all Korean men are short, this is discri…disrimica…discrimination against tall people.”

“Talk to Yeol about it,” Jongdae grumbled.

“Yeah, I don’t know how he survived,” Sehun hummed.

“The power of positivity,” Jongdae yawned.

“Hmm,” Sehun said, readjusting his arms around Jongdae. “Hyung—“

“Don’t say it,” Jongdae grumbled.

He heard the smile in Sehun’s voice. “So small, hyung.”

“I hate you, go away,” Jongdae said.

“But I’m warm, hyung,” Sehun reminded him.

“Right,” Jongdae sighed, closing his eyes.

The next time Jongdae opened his eyes, it was due to a mouth-watering smell and noises coming from the kitchen. It took him a while to actually work up the energy to move, rubbing at his limbs to try and get some warmth into them. He pulled on an oversized hoodie over his long-sleeved shirt, shuffling out of his room and squinting at the brightness of the lights.

“He lives,” Kyungsoo deadpanned, setting a steaming plate onto the table.

“I’m not sure about that yet,” Jongdae yawned, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

“Do you want me to check?” Kyungsoo said, a devious expression in his eyes as he brandished a kitchen knife.

“No thanks,” Jongdae said wryly, approaching the table, which was covered with food. “Ugh, are we expecting company?”

Kyungsoo shrugged. “You know it helps me destress. Couldn’t stop myself.”

Jongdae offered Kyungsoo what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “You put up with all my angsty crap for weeks, so I think I can handle stress cooking with no problem.”

“It’s easier to do when your mystery boyfriend ships warehouses of food over here,” Kyungsoo said. “Oh, and Sehun’s on the couch. Wake him up?”

“Hmm?” Jongdae said, brow furrowing. “He was sleeping with me, why’d he come out here?”

Kyungsoo shrugged. “I think he muttered something about making you uncomfortable.”

Frowning, Jongdae stumbled to the couch and looked down at Sehun, who’d awkwardly curled himself up in order to fit. “Did I have a nightmare, Sehunnie?” Jongdae said quietly. “Sorry.” Reaching down, he patted at Sehun’s shoulder. “Sehun? Sehun, wake up!”

Sehun groaned, stretching his limbs out to let them hang over the couch. “Why are you punishing me?” he complained.

“I don’t think free dinner qualifies as punishment,” Jongdae said.

“Dinner?” Sehun perked up.

They seated themselves at the table, Sehun’s knees squished underneath, and for the first time in a while Jongdae actually had an appetite. He was so hungry all of a sudden that he had to fight to slow himself down so he wouldn’t eat everything and then throw it up.

On his second serving of rice, he audibly groaned as someone pounded on the door. It wasn’t a friendly or familiar knock, and Jongdae really didn’t want to answer it, but like always, politeness compelled him to at least see what was going on. “I’ll get it,” Jongdae sighed, resting his chopsticks on top of his bowl.

“I already knew that,” Kyungsoo said bluntly, critically eyeing Sehun’s messy eating.

Jongdae pushed up the sleeves of the hoodie to his elbows, beginning to feel a little warm. He peered through the peephole, heart jumping as it recognized the detective who’d practically assaulted him before. Chewing on his bottom lip, Jongdae really didn’t want to open the door. But Detective Wu was still a policeman, and Jongdae didn’t know if he would get in trouble if he ignored it. Plus, there were people over, so there was no way he would…

Sighing, Jongdae cracked the door open, chain still attached. “Can I help you?” Jongdae said, swallowing down his anxiety and fear.

The detective critically eyed the chain still hooked across the door. “Got something to hide, Mr. Kim?” he shot back, eyebrow quirking.

“Just myself from your reach,” Jongdae sighed.

“Look,” Detective Wu frowned, “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean you any harm, I was simply testing to see if you were really what you claimed to be.”

“That—“ Jongdae said, eyes widening. “That doesn’t give you the right to attack me in my own house!”

“You’re right,” Detective Wu said immediately. “You’re absolutely right, and I lost control, and I am extremely apologetic about that.”

Jongdae frowned indecisively. “What do you want, Detective Wu?”

“We really can’t do this inside?” Detective Wu said uncertainly, glancing down the hallway.

Jongdae sighed, reaching out to close the door and undo the chain. When he pulled it all the way open, he held out a hand to stop the detective for a moment. “Please keep your hands to yourself.”

The detective nodded and stepped past him into the entryway. “You have company?”

“Yeah,” Jongdae nodded.

“Is there anywhere more private we can talk, then?” Detective Wu asked. “It’s important.”

“My room, I-I guess?” Jongdae said, leading him past the questioning gazes of Kyungsoo and Sehun and back into his bedroom. As soon as he shut the door, he turned around to see the detective critically sizing him up. “What is this about?”

Detective Wu reached inside of his coat and pulled a small square piece of paper from an inside pocket. Instead of saying anything, he held it out for Jongdae to take.

Jongdae’s brow furrowed as he accepted the paper, quickly realizing that it was a small photograph. Flipping it around to see what was on its face, Jongdae felt an electric shock pierce his body. He let the photograph fall to the floor as he was no longer able to keep his grip on it.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe and it felt like there was a weight pressing against his chest, squeezing his rib cage and lungs and heart. He lost the ability to stand up, slumping to his knees as he scratched at his sternum, desperate for air. Everything seemed so muffled, colors became blurred together and he stopped being able to hear anything except his own weak attempts to breathe again.

“Mr. Kim? Kim Jongdae!” he heard the detective practically shouting at him, but that only made him more afraid as he curled in on himself. Why was this happening again? Why did he have to go through this _again_?

He came to recognize that the warmth of a small body was pressing into his back, distinguishing Kyungsoo’s deep voice as he cradled Jongdae from behind. “Breathe, Jongdae! You need to breathe! Listen to me, okay? In…out…in…out…that’s it, hyung. That’s it. You’re doing really well, hyung. Everything’s going to be okay, alright? You’re in our apartment, and you’re safe. You’re safe here with me and Sehun, okay? No one’s going to do anything bad. You’re safe.”

It took a few minutes of Kyungsoo talking to him in order for Jongdae to catch his breath, shaking and shivering at his body that was suddenly weak and freezing. “S-sorry,” Jongdae said, trying to fight down the little hiccups of air that forced him to lose his breathing pattern. “I…I wasn’t expecting to s-see him, and then…”

“It’s okay, hyung,” Kyungsoo soothed, looking at something over Jongdae’ shoulder. “Everything’s okay.”

Sehun knelt down next to him and captured one of Jongdae’s shaking hands in both of his own, rubbing feeling and warmth back into his fingers. “Hyung,” he whined, though he didn’t really say much else.

“I take it you know Professor Kim Minsoo, then?” Detective Wu said, eyeing the spectacle happening on the floor on front of him.

Jongdae felt his heart skip a beat at just the mention of the name.

“Yah,” Kyungsoo growled. “Can’t you see he just had a panic attack?!”

“Wh-wh-why?” Jongdae struggled, meeting Detective Wu’s gaze. “Wh-why are you a-asking me about…?”

“His wife reported him missing,” Detective Wu said.

Jongdae felt like he was on the verge of passing out.

“We did a cursory search of the home with her permission, and he had a few photographs on the wall of his studio. Past students, his wife says. Creepy, I say. But I look over all the pictures, and there’s one there that I recognize. Want to guess which one it was?”

Jongdae wanted to throw up. That man had been keeping a picture of him? It made him feel dirty, somehow.

“I take it you know each other, but I’m not sure what to make of this reaction,” the detective deadpanned.   

“I was his student,” Jongdae said, completely numb. “He used to hit me when I did something wrong. Which, I guess, everything I did was wrong to him.”

Detective Wu looked taken aback, eyes widening. “Did you report this?”

“He reported it to the school and they didn’t do a fucking thing,” Kyungsoo said darkly.

“Do you know if he ever…hit anyone else?” Detective Wu said, flipping open a notebook.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” Jongdae said weakly.

“Well, if I can think of a motive for someone to hurt the guy, that one’s pretty gold star,” Detective Wu said wryly.  He hesitated, looking down at Jongdae. “Listen, I’m sorry for causing you distress. I didn’t think you would react like that—“

“No,” Jongdae huffed bitterly. “You were hoping I would look guilty, weren’t you?”

“I think you should go,” Kyungsoo said. “Sehun, show him to the door,”

Sehun rose to his feet, frowning when he realized that the detective was taller than he was, but puffing out his chest in anger nevertheless.

“I…” Detective Wu said, sighing, “I really am sorry.”

As Sehun and Detective Wu left his bedroom, Jongdae curled up on his side, resting his head in Kyungsoo’s lap. “Why does he keep ruining everything?” Jongdae said. “No matter what I do, he’s always in my head.”

“We’ll get him out, hyung,” Kyungsoo said, resting a light hand on the top of Jongdae’s head. “I promise, we’ll get him out.”

Jongdae curled up tighter, afraid to close his eyes and let his imagination run wild.

For some reason, he really wanted to hear Yixing’s voice, telling him everything would be okay. Maybe then he could believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opinions welcome.


	10. Chapter 10

Jongdae sighed pensively, resisting the urge to refresh his computer screen yet again. He’d managed to finish all of his exams without a stress-induced breakdown, and now all he had to do was wait on his scores. His coffee had gone cold more than an hour ago, but it was easier to sit in the ambience of the café than fidget on the couch at home and curse at the spotty wi-fi.

He twitched in surprise, heart skipping a beat, as someone slid into the chair across from his small wooden table.

“Hello, Jongdae,” Joonmyun grinned sweetly, sipping at a small espresso cup. “It’s been quite some time. How have you been?”

Jongdae stared at him. He had so many things to say, and because they were all fighting for first position, nothing came out of his mouth.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Joonmyun huffed in amusement. “Surely I’m not that scary. I’m even wearing a cardigan today.”

“You—“ Jongdae breathed. He sighed, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly. “First, what did you do to Professor Minsoo?”

Joonmyun smiled, the right corner of his mouth curling upwards into a smirk. “I’m sure you saw on the news that he returned to his loving wife, safe and sound. They covered it for quite some time, plastered the bastard’s smiling face all over the screen.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Jongdae said.

“We just had a conversation, Jongdae, I’m not an animal,” Joonmyun said.

Jongdae had been surprised to see the news of the man returning home, claiming he’d just needed a few days away from everything. Jongdae had been sure that Joonmyun had killed him. Maybe Yixing had convinced him otherwise, but he had no way of knowing. And maybe the worst part was, his mind had already begun coming up with excuses to forgive him. It was that kind of thinking that had doomed him in the first place.

“A week-long conversation?” Jongdae said skeptically.

“Sometimes it takes a while to explain things,” Joonmyun shrugged. “I simply wanted to make sure that he understood the complexities of the issue. But that’s not what you’re really asking, is it? You want to know if I tortured him, yes?”

Jongdae swallowed, throat suddenly dry. Did he really want to know the answer?

“He may have been hungry, he may have been thirsty, he may have been utterly humiliated, and he may have deserved so much worse, but I did not inflict any pain on him,” Joonmyun answered coolly. “He suffered enough to know what’s going to happen if he ever raises a hand to another student. It is at that point that the torturing will happen.”

Jongdae flinched, stomach twisting.

Joonmyun’s expression softened. “Oh, my poor baby. I do apologize for worrying you. Xing was also awfully worried about it, very unlike him.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jongdae muttered, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

Joonmyun’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “What, _baby_? But you are, Jongdae. My sweet little Jongdae,” Joonmyun cooed, resting his head in his hand and beaming at the flustered student. “You’re honestly too precious for this world.”

“Yah!” Jongdae hissed, face hot.

Joonmyun clicked his tongue. “What did I say about speaking informally to your hyung?”

“You’re just trying to distract me, aren’t you?” Jongdae accused.

“Is it working, baby?” Joonmyun said lazily.

Jongdae coughed, turning his head to the side. This was ridiculous. With just a few words, how could a person make him feel so weak? “You kidnapped somebody, hyung. And then you wouldn’t talk to me. What was I supposed to think?” he shot back in irritation.

“Jongdae, I do sincerely apologize for worrying you. I just felt as though…I shouldn’t be around you for a short period. I was afraid that you would misconstrue my anger as being directed towards you instead of that man. And so I cut off contact, for fear that the anger would still come through, despite my best efforts,” Joonmyun said. “I now see that it was an unwise course of action. Can you forgive me?”

A noise left Jongdae’s mouth, one that sounded disconcertingly like a whimper as Joonmyun stared at him with the full force of his handsome face. “I…why does it matter if I forgive you?” Jongdae finally muttered, scratching at his neck.

“Oh, of course it matters,” Joonmyun said, blinking. “Have you not realized how charmed I am by you? I thought I made it fairly obvious. You hold quite a dangerous power.”

“What?” Jongdae said, voice cracking in surprise. “ _Me_? But…I…”

“I liked you from the moment you opened your eyes in the back of my car a few months ago. No, I think…I think I liked you from the time you paid for my hangover drink. Granted, it’s all a little fuzzy, but I do remember thinking that you were like an angel that night. I was so upset, I had just learned a close family friend had passed away, and I took the wrong wallet when I went out to have a drink. But there you were, giving me money even though I’m sure you needed it more.”

“But,” Jongdae spluttered. “You can’t have liked me that long! You didn’t…you didn’t even know me…”

“I know you,” Joonmyun insisted. “You’re an open book, Kim Jongdae. I like that about you. I like everything about you, really.”

“I d-don’t know what to say,” Jongdae said, hands shaking as he folded them in his lap. People weren’t supposed to be this honest! They were supposed to lie and deflect so that Jongdae could keep being detached and polite. “This is really sudden, and—I’m not a _toy_ for you to play around with because you’re bored! I…” How was he supposed to respond to something like that? It felt too much like he was being played around with, because it just wasn’t possible.

“First, I have _never_ once thought of you as a toy, Kim Jongdae,” Joonmyun said, narrowing his eyes. “Second, I’m not asking for anything. I enjoy liking you, I don’t want anything in return. Third, though it is truly regrettable, nothing will ever happen between us, Jongdae.”

“Huh?” Jongdae said, confused and surprised.

“My life is far too dangerous for you to get involved in it. I won’t ever put you at that kind of risk. I won’t lock you in that cage. And so I meet with you in places like these because it makes me happy. Seeing your face makes me happy. Is that such a crime?”

Jongdae’s flush deepened at the same time his chest was compressed by a sinking feeling of crushed hope that he hadn’t even known he possessed. “I…guess not?” Jongdae said hesitantly. _But what about me?_ He really wanted to say. A confession and a rejection all at once. This was too much of an emotional rollercoaster.

“Oh dear, I’ve made you uncomfortable,” Joonmyun sighed. “Yet again, I apologize. What were you doing before I interrupted you?”

“Just…waiting for my grades to be posted,” Jongdae said, dazed. “Wait, how _did_ you know I was here?”

“I know everything, Jongdae,” Joonmyun smiled. “Well, that, and I can track the phone I gave you.”

“That’s so creepy,” Jongdae said bluntly.

“I solemnly swear never to abuse it,” Joonmyun said, pressing a hand to his heart.

“I don’t believe you,” Jongdae said, shaking his head as he clicked the refresh button on his open browser and tried to calm his frantic, embarrassed heart. Once again, the screen revealed nothing new.

“Jongdae,” Joonmyun said gently.

“What?” Jongdae said, voice tinged with annoyance.

“Do you like me, Jongdae?” Joonmyun said.

“No,” Jongdae said stubbornly.

“Jongdae.”

“ _What_?”

“You never said that you forgave me.”

Jongdae sighed. “I forgive you.”

“Jongdae.”

“ _Hyungggg_ ,” Jongdae whined in complaint, stomping his foot and drawing a grin from Joonmyun.

“Honestly, too cute,” Joonmyun smiled. “You know, you remind me a bit of how I used to be.”

“Did you just use me as an excuse to call yourself cute?” Jongdae said wryly. “Amazing.”

“Yes, I…suppose it wouldn’t seem that way, looking at me now,” Joonmyun’s smile fell as he turned his head to look contemplatively out of the window. “My father…was not a kind man. I don’t blame him, not completely. It was the world he grew up in, full of blood and anger and ruthlessness. I suppose that I still ended up with a little piece of him inside of me. But I didn’t start out that way, Jongdae. I had my hopes and my dreams, just like anyone else.”

Jongdae swallowed, suddenly nervous as Joonmyun’s face looked so sad. He considered, for a moment, taking Joonmyun’s free hand in his own. Only for a moment.

“I realized that only I could change things. I was the only one who _wanted_ to change things.” Joonmyun shook his head, taking another sip of espresso. “Anyway, I know the signs to look for when a person has been…mistreated. My childhood was not an easy one. I can’t stand to see something like that happening to anyone else when I can stop it. I never wanted power, Jongdae, but the truth is that I _need_ power. I need it to protect the things that are important to me.”

“Hyung,” Jongdae said, heart swelling with sympathy at the unexpected confession.

“Whatever bad things you may hear about me, I just want you to know that I only do what I must. I derive no pleasure from it. I don’t want to do it, most of the time. But if I want power…if I want to keep my own  safe…then I would burn the rest of the world to ash,” Joonmyun said softly.

“I never thought you were bad,” Jongdae said quietly. “I was afraid of you and Yixing hyung, sure, because I was hurt. But…you’ve done nothing but try to protect me. I think you want to believe that you’re bad because it’s easier to think that way than to fail to meet expectations for being good.”

Joonmyun’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh?”

“So you shouldn’t focus on good, bad, whatever. You should focus on being Kim Joonmyun, okay?” Jongdae prodded. “And then…I think…just considering everything…the good will come naturally.”

Joonmyun offered him a small smile, running a hand through his already perfectly-tousled hair. “I wonder why it’s so easy to talk to you. I didn’t mean to say any of that, but it just…” he sighed. “Listen, Jongdae—“ he cut off his words, eyes narrowing at something over Jongdae’s shoulder.

“Fancy seeing you here, Joonmyun,” Detective Wu’s accented drawl announced, sending goosebumps up Jongdae’s spine as he towered over the both of them. “A little below your usual standards, isn’t it?” Jongdae had the sinking feeling that he wasn’t talking about the café.

“Yifan,” Joonmyun practically growled, swiftly pulling out his phone and unlocking the screen, huffing as he read a text message before shoving it back into his tight pants pocket. “Get out,” he said darkly.

“This is a public place, not your fortress,” Detective Wu said, eyes shifting to Jongdae. “You have no authority over me here.”

Jongdae didn’t know what to do. The tension was palpable as the two men stared each other down. All he knew was that he felt more comfortable with Joonmyun than being anywhere near the other man.

“Yifan, this is not the time, nor the place,” Joonmyun said, jaw clenching, eyes flicking towards Jongdae.

“Why, because the kid’s here? Don’t worry, we’re well acquainted with each other, aren’t we, Jongdae?” Yifan said, corner of his mouth coiling into a smirk.

Jongdae couldn’t suppress the ensuing shiver, practically curling in on himself in his chair as he pretended that the other wasn’t there. Maybe not the best way to approach the problem, but it was all he had at the moment.

Joonmyun didn’t fail to notice, brow furrowing as he looked between them. “What did you do?” he spat accusingly at Yifan. “He has nothing to do with anything, Yifan! Are you so blinded by your ambition that you’d hurt an innocent kid?”

“Hyung,” Jongdae said weakly. “It’s fine. Let’s just…let’s just go, okay?” He would have liked nothing more than for Joonmyun to assert his dominance, but he knew that it would only lead to trouble.

“Please, I’d love to see the great Kim Joonmyun turning tail because of me. Really, it’ll be the talk of the town,” Yifan grinned.

Joonmyun grimaced. “Why must you insist on provoking me? You are constantly walking a dangerous line, detective.”

“You know why,” Yifan hissed.

Joonmyun closed his eyes, sighed, and set his empty cup on the table. “Let’s go, Jongdae. Gather your things.”

It took a second to comply, but Jongdae didn’t argue, closing the lid of his laptop and sliding it into his old backpack.

Yifan scoffed. “What, whores just not doing it for you, anymore, that you have to go after college boys? Or is it that this particular boy serves dual purpos—“ he jerked to a stop as Joonmyun’s fingers curled forcefully in the fabric of his shirt collar, expression murderous.

“Hyung!” Jongdae said frantically, pulling at his arm. “Don’t! That’s assault of a police officer!”

“Do it,” Yifan incited. “Defend your boy toy. I’d love to drag your ass downtown and throw you in with the drunks.”

For a moment, Jongdae was sure that there was going to be a fight. “It would be worth the fine,” Joonmyun muttered, coming to his senses and releasing the detective, wiping his hands on his pants like they were dirty. “Do not speak of him that way,” Joonmyun said lowly, “or you will find yourself in an unfortunate situation.”

Yifan frowned in confusion. “Is that a threat?”

“You know what it is,” Joonmyun said, parroting Yifan’s words back at him. Wrapping his hand around Jongdae’s elbow, he steered them from the café and to a sleek black car parked next to the curb outside. Jongdae climbed in without protest, releasing a huff of relief that they got out of the situation without bloodshed.

“Jongdae,” Joonmyun said, fingers squeezing the leather steering wheel, knuckle bones whitening the skin on top of them. “Has Yifan visited you more than the one time I came over and found his card in your kitchen?”

Jongdae nodded hesitantly. “You…saw it, huh?”

“What happened?” Joonmyun said.

“He just…accused me of having something to do with Professor Kim’s disappearance,” Jongdae said slowly. “I wasn’t expecting to hear that name or see that face, and…I may have…had a panic attack,” he admitted. “I really don’t like him, hyung,” Jongdae said. “He tries to freak me out on purpose, even though I never did anything to deserve it.”

“I’m sorry,” Joonmyun frowned. “His hatred for me is probably what’s caused him to bother you in the first place.” He frowned, loosening his grip on the wheel. “I will have a conversation with his superiors.”

“But what if that just makes him angry?” Jongdae said uncertainly.

Joonmyun turned to look at him, brow furrowing in concern. “Are you worried that he would come after you in retaliation?”

“I…” Jongdae sighed. “I don’t know. He’s kind of an asshole. I don’t know what he’s capable of. I just know that every time he stops by, it’s scary and uncomfortable. And I don’t want to have to deal with that again.”

“It seems as though I’ve done a very poor job of protecting you, even though I swore to make your life easier,” Joonmyun said. “I will do all that is in my power to keep Yifan away from you. Without hurting him,” he added as an afterthought.

“He seems very…committed,” Jongdae said, buckling the seatbelt over his lap as Joonmyun started the car by pressing a button.

“He believes that my father was responsible for the death of his brother,” Joonmyun said, pulling out of his parking spot and into the slow stream of traffic. “It was twenty years ago, and we were both just children.”

“Was he?” Jongdae asked, then blanched. “I’m…you don’t have to answer that, if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t know,” Joonmyun said. “If that was truly the case, then my father took it with him to the grave. I know nothing of the circumstances under which he claims it happened. I’m not sure that even he does. All he has left to cling to is his hatred.”

“That’s kind of sad, actually,” Jongdae said.

“I envy your heart, sometimes,” Joonmyun said softly.

Jongdae shook his head in embarrassment, watching the buildings pass by through the darkly tinted windows. “By the way, where…where are we going?”

“Oh, I hadn’t really thought about it,” Joonmyun said, tilting his head in deliberation, eyes occasionally checking his rearview mirror. “I thought it best to just get away.”

A message appeared on one of the center console screens.

_Fr: zyx_

_Have you talked to him yet, dummy?_

Joonmyun huffed in amusement at what Jongdae assumed was a text message that went both to his phone and the car. “Such a child, isn’t he,” he chuckled. “Jongdae, would you like to visit with Xing? I could take you to the private entrance to his office. I’m sure he would love to see you safe and sound.”

“Oh, but, is that safe? Aren’t you not supposed to be near each other just in case…” Jongdae trailed off, realizing that he’d probably said more than he should have, if Joonmyun’s suddenly tense shoulders were any indication.

“And where did you hear that?” Joonmyun asked, voice calm but with an edge to it that hadn’t been there before.

“Umm,” Jongdae said, fiddling uncomfortably with the seatbelt.

“Jongdae,” Joonmyun said.

“Yixing hyung’s cousin is a student at my school,” Jongdae admitted. “We’re…friends? I think. I’m pretty sure. It’s hard to tell. Anyway, he…he’s filled me in on a few things.” Best not to mention the love confession.

“Cousin?” Joonmyun repeated, face perturbed. “Jongdae…you can’t trust anyone from that family!”

Jongdae was startled by the sudden exclamation. “Hyung, he doesn’t have anything to do with—“

“Jongdae, I need you to listen to me,” Joonmyun said seriously. “They will _do_ anything. They will say _anything_ to get what they want. And what they want is to go back to the way things used to be. Student or not, Jongdae, you can’t trust this person. I want you to stop seeing them immediately.”

“What? You can’t just—you don’t know him!” Jongdae protested. “He doesn’t want anything to do with the… _whatever_ it is that you two do! He’s just—”

Joonmyun sighed, raising one hand from the wheel to rub at his eyes. “This is not a situation in which you can afford to be naïve.”

“I’m not an idiot! Even Yixing hyung didn’t act this way!” Jongdae argued. “You can’t keep overreacting every time you learn something you don’t like!”

“He knew? He knew and still let this continue?” Joonmyun said incredulously.

“Because it’s not yours to control!” Jongdae said. “He’s my friend, and he won’t hurt me. He just wanted to make sure that I knew what was going on! That’s more than you’ve ever done!”

Joonmyun froze, expression pained. Jongdae felt guilty, even though he knew he had nothing to feel guilty for.

After a few minutes of awkward and uncomfortable silence, Joonmyun pulled into a parking garage, slipping his car into a reserved space. “Come on,” he said quietly, pushing open his door.

Jongdae sighed, climbing out of the car and following Joonmyun to the closes elevator. Before he stepped on, Joonmyun ran a card through a reader affixed to the wall. They both stood silently in the box as it began to move, music filtering soothingly through the space.

“I have two bodyguards,” Joonmyun said suddenly. “In answer to your question. They’re good at what they do, so you would never see them unless you were looking for them. As long as they are waiting for me outside, then nothing horrendous can happen when Yixing and I are near each other. Still, you must proceed alone from here,” Joonmyun said, remaining in the elevator as he shuffled Jongdae out of it. “Keep going down this hallway. He’s expecting you.”

“Hyung—“ Jongdae tried, but the doors were already closing.

Jongdae glanced down the hallway uncertainly, blinded by white and chrome and sparkling surfaces. He clutched his scuffed and threadbare bag to his chest, feeling distinctly out of place.  

Maybe he could just…go back down the elevator. This was a horrible idea. Why did he agree to it? _Had_ he agreed to it?

“Jongdae?” Yixing’s voice questioned.

Jongdae looked up from his panic to see the older man dressed to the nines in an immaculate grey suit. He looked down at his own jeans and hoodie, sighing with deep regret. “Hi, hyung,” Jongdae muttered, rubbing at his neck.

“What did he do?” Yixing questioned immediately, crossing his arms over his chest, muscles stretching the tight fit of the blazer.

Jongdae sighed. He still needed to check his grades. “You have wi-fi?”


	11. Chapter 11

Jongdae wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, practically skipping down the stage steps as he returned to his position behind the bar. With the semester break in full swing, he’d taken up additional shifts at Luhan’s bar, both to make sure he didn’t get rusty and for the extra money.

He smiled at a few regulars who complimented him on his voice, and he mindlessly served drink after drink as more people, also on Christmas vacation, poured into the bar. Halfway through the night, Luhan joined him to help out, grumbling about fire hazards under his breath but smiling brightly all the same.

Mid-way through pouring a vodka tonic, a hand wrapped bruisingly around his wrist. Jongdae was so startled that he dropped the bottle of tonic water, sending it to splash fizzingly to the ground and all over his shoes. “Wha--?” Jongdae gasped.

“Kim Jongdae,” Professor Kim sneered, cheeks bright red. Jongdae hadn’t served him anything, so he must have come into the bar already drunk.

Jongdae’s heart plummeted to the floor, his breath coming in short gasps as words failed him. This wasn’t…this wasn’t supposed to happen. They were never supposed to see each other again. Joonmyun had said…he _promised_ …

“Yah!” the man growled angrily, fingers squeezing harder as his other arm reached across the bar to fist a handful of Jongdae’s shirt.

Jongdae felt like a fish out of water, vulnerable and exposed and unable to breathe. He didn’t even think about calling for help, his mind going straight to panic, fear, and shutdown. He didn’t do anything wrong, he didn’t do anything bad, so _why_? Why was this happening again?

“Hey!” Luhan shouted, thin fingers trying to pry the other man off of him. “Let him go!”

Professor Kim didn’t budge, eyes unfocused as he gripped impossibly tighter.

“What the fuck?!” Luhan growled. “I said let him the fuck go!” He looked around in a panic, trying to find someone else to enlist in freeing Jongdae.

“It’s always you that ruins everything,” Professor Kim slurred, giving Jongdae a spastic shake. “Every time! _You_!”

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae choked, bring his hands up to brace against the ones caging him. “Please, I’m sorry!”

“You’re always sorry!” the man spat, causing Jongdae to wince and squeeze his eyes tightly shut. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. This was all just a nightmare. “But sorry doesn’t fix anything, does it? It doesn’t make you better! It doesn’t give me my job back! It doesn’t stop your fucking friends from—“

“Please,” Jongdae said, shaking his head. He was in a practice room again, eyes pricked with tears as he was constantly berated, shoved around, told that his voice would amount to nothing. Cringing away from rough hands and prodding fingers and brown leather shoes. “I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll do better—“

Jongdae’s eyes snapped open as the hands were wrenched away from him. An arm snaked around Professor Kim’s neck, cutting off his air supply as the uncoordinated man struggled to free himself.

Jongdae sank to his hands and knees, forehead pressed to the sticky, wet floor as he tried to get a handle on his breathing. He closed his eyes, trying not to cry as he focused on in-out-in-out.

“…dae?” he finally heard, Luhan kneeling next to him and placing an uncertain hand on his back. “Jongdae, are you alright? Do you need me to call someone?”

Jongdae managed to lift his head up. “No,” he breathed. “No, I…I just…”

“You should go get checked out, at least,” a familiar voice said.

Jongdae jolted, eyes meeting Detective Wu’s, which were oddly filled with concern. “Wh-what are you doing here?” he said, feeling the panic creeping back in.

“I was going to grab a drink,” the man said. “Ended up grabbing something else.” He glanced to the side, where Jongdae’s unconscious ex-professor was handcuffed on the ground. “Having just come back from wherever the hell he disappeared to, I’m surprised he decided that going after ex-students was a good idea.” He sighed, scratching at his head. “Don’t worry, I saw the whole thing. He came after you unprovoked.”

Jongdae blinked, unsure of what game the detective was playing. “I don’t…w-why…why did you help me?” Jongdae stuttered.

Detective Wu frowned, brow furrowed as he examined Jongdae on the floor. “It’s my job.”

“But you don’t like me,” Jongdae said, confused.

“What does that have to do with anything? You wanted him to squeeze the life out of you?” Detective Wu asked. “This place has security cameras, right?”

“I had them installed after the last incident,” Luhan said absently, trying to support Jongdae’s boneless form.

Luhan finally managed to help Jongdae to his feet, leaning him against the bar as he looked between them. “Jongdae, I think you should see a doctor just in case,” Luhan said gently.

Jongdae sighed, shaking his head. “There’s nothing wrong with me. It’ll just be some bruises,” he muttered, looking down at the red splotches on his arm, and feeling the friction burn where the fabric of his collar had rubbed at his neck.

“Then at least go home for now,” Luhan commanded, tone brooking no disagreement. “You can take some time to sleep this off. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Jongdae wanted to argue that he was fine, but he knew that Luhan wouldn’t listen. The young bar owner was one of the most stubborn people Jongdae knew. “Okay,” he sighed, wiping tonic water off of his forehead. “Okay…”

“I’ll drive you,” the detective said.

Jongdae was about to protest out of fear, but Luhan beat him to it.

“Ugh, no, you have to deal with this,” Luhan pointed at the unconscious man.

“Oh, right,” Detective Wu sighed, pulling out his phone to place a call to the station. “With the cameras, I don’t think we’ll need anything else from you, but I know where you live if we do.”

Luhan gave him a sharp look.

Jongdae gathered his things from under the bar, slipping on his thin winter coat in a daze. Part of him was still hoping that everything had been a dream. The other parts felt absent, numb, his skin freezing under the fabric.

“Hey, kid,” Detective Wu caught his attention. “Just because I hate Joonmyun doesn’t mean I won’t help you if you’re in trouble. I might be a bastard, but I’m still a cop.”

Jongdae didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, giving the man a curt nod before turning away.

Luhan tried to convince him to wait for a moment, but Jongdae couldn’t stand any more time in the same room as Professor Kim. “Boss?” Jongdae said quietly.

“Yeah?” Luhan said, keeping an eye on the detective.

“Don’t tell Joonmyun about this.”

Luhan sighed. “He’s going to hear about it, anyway.”

“Just…not tonight, okay?” Jongdae said, shoulders slumping.

The walk back to his apartment was a blur. He didn’t remember anything before he opened the door, the space dark and cold as Kyungsoo was back home visiting family. Jongdae didn’t even make it to his room before collapsing onto the couch, burying his face in a throw pillow to block out everything else.

What was he supposed to do?

It felt like a chasm had opened up in the middle of his chest, and he had nothing to fill it with except sadness and despair. He groaned into the pillow, already hating himself for being so dramatic. Despite the coldness of the room, he was starting to feel a little warm, so he stripped off the coat before falling back into the threadbare cushions.

He woke to a light knock at the door, body drenched in sweat and brain fuzzy. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have, curled up into a tight ball on the couch.

Staggering to his feet, he didn’t even check who it was before he opened the door.

“Jongdae! Hi, umm, I know it’s late, but we had some extra cake from our Christmas party, and I know that your shift usually ends around now, so I thought I…” Minseok trailed off, eyes narrowing in concern. “Jongdae?”

“Oh,” Jongdae rasped. “That’s nice of you, hyung.”

“Jongdae, are you okay? You’re soaked!” Minseok said, reaching out for Jongdae’s forehead.

Jongdae couldn’t help the flinch, especially not that night, stumbling backwards and tripping over his own feet to land on the entryway floor.

“Jongdae!” Minseok worried, stepping inside and setting the cake on top of the shoe rack. “I just wanted to check your temperature,” he said cautiously. “Is it okay if I do that?”

Jongdae nodded blearily, prepared now as a cool hand pressed against his head. “That feels nice,” Jongdae muttered, closing his eyes as everything else felt muted.

“Oh, fuck, you’re burning up!” Minseok said, concerned. “Come on, let me help you up.”

Jongdae felt hands under his arms hauling him to his feet, and he tried to stand on his own, but nothing seemed to cooperate with him. Ultimately, they ended up back on the couch, Minseok examining him worriedly. “Do you have a thermometer?” Minseok said, having to put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

“I’m sure Soo does,” Jongdae said tiredly. “Probably in the bathroom...maybe.”

Minseok left a moment later, returning with an electronic thermometer in one hand and a wet wash cloth in the other. He pressed one to Jongdae’s forehead and placed the other carefully under Jongdae’s tongue.

After a low beep, Minseok checked the reading. “Thirty-eight point five,” Minseok muttered. “High, but not dangerous yet.”

“Sorry,” Jongdae muttered. Everything felt weird and shaky and stifled.

“What? Why are you sorry?” Minseok said.

“You came to eat cake, but you’re stuck doing this,” Jongdae mumbled.

Minseok offered him a fond smile. “I’m not ‘stuck’ doing anything when I get to spend some time with you.”

Jongdae knew that if his cheeks weren’t already flushed, then they would be.

“Do you have any soup?” Minseok questioned. “They say you’re supposed to eat that when you’re sick, right?”

“I think Soo has some frozen,” Jongdae said, “but I’m not really hungry.”

“Oh,” Minseok said. “Well, then I guess rest is the next best thing. Do you want to watch a movie, or something, and try to fall asleep?”

“Okay,” Jongdae agreed, eyelids already drooping. He probably would have agreed to anything at that point, with his thoughts so scattered and his body desperate for sleep.

When he next woke, Minseok was asleep next to him, head resting on Jongdae’s shoulder. Jongdae couldn’t help but admire his soft features. Would it be so bad if he agreed to go out with Minseok? Minseok was nice, and he was strong, and he was protective. He brought Jongdae cake. It was probably just the fever talking.

Minseok shifted, brushing up against Jongdae’s arm, which caused him to hiss and Minseok to shoot awake.

“What? What is it?” Minseok said groggily.

“Nothing,” Jongdae said quickly, shaking his head, even slight movement sending his vision spinning.

Minseok looked over at him, more awake as his eyes filled with suspicion. “Are you hurt somewhere?”

“No,” Jongdae said.

Minseok scoffed. “You’re normally honest, but you always lie about these things. Just not to me. Please don’t start now.”

Jongdae sighed, guilt welling up even over the exhaustion and confusion and body aches. “It was another incident at work,” he said shortly. “Somebody grabbed my arm…pretty hard.”

Minseok reached out to look at his arm, attempting to push the sleeve up before Jongdae winced. “Okay,” Minseok frowned. “I think the whole thing needs to come off.”

“But…” Jongdae said, gross and sweaty and embarrassed.

“You need to go take a shower anyway,” Minseok said. “Jongdae, I’ve seen you shirtless already. You know I won’t do anything.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to,” Jongdae said tiredly, the muffling blanket of fever already overtaking his brain again. People always did this, just talked over whatever he wanted so that they could do what they wanted instead. And it always worked, because he always felt guilty. What would Kyungsoo do?

“Jongdae, stop being stubborn,” Minseok frowned, reaching for them hem of his shirt. “I need to check it out!”

“No, you don’t!” Jongdae said, frustrated, pushing his hands away. “I don’t want you to, and I can deal with it on my own!”

“Jongdae, come on!” Minseok said, frowning, not giving in and reaching for his shirt again. “Just let me see!”

As close as they were in height, Minseok was easily three times stronger than him. His body was filled in with muscle, and he knew what to do with it. Jongdae tried and failed to push the hands away again as they tugged upwards at the smelly fabric. It made a bit of panic resurface, as Jongdae was quickly losing control of the situation.

Rationally, he knew he had nothing to be afraid of. Emotionally, his fever-wracked and psychologically traumatized body had other ideas.

Minseok had his shirt halfway off before Jongdae lost it completely and practically threw himself off of the couch, hitting the floor hard with his shoulder. “I said no!” Jongdae shouted, scrabbling away until his back hit the wall. “I don’t want to,” Jongdae repeated, pulling his shirt back down. “I don’t want to.” He shivered as the sweat cooled on his skin, bringing his knees to his chest to curl in on himself. “I’m sorry.”

Minseok was giving him a horrified look, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, dark brow furrowed. “Jongdae?”

“You can go home, now,” Jongdae muttered, wrapping his arms around his legs. “Thank you for stopping by.”

“Jongdae, please…” Minseok said. “I’m…I’m sorry for trying to take your shirt off without permission,” he said carefully. “But clearly, there’s something else going here, and I can’t leave until I know that you’re okay. How about you take a shower first, and then I can look at your arm after you get changed? Is that okay?”

“I don’t want to,” Jongdae slurred, mind _so_ tired as he rested his cheek on his kneecaps.

Minseok sighed. “Okay, I…is there someone I can call for you? Someone that you would prefer to take care of you? Geeze, you’re the worst patient,” he muttered.

“No,” Jongdae slurred. “I’m just gonna’ sleep.”

“I _can’t_ leave you alone,” Minseok insisted.

Sighing, Jongdae struggled to reach into his pocket, clumsy hands finally managing to retrieve his phone. He unlocked the screen before pressing his finger on the first number in his recent contacts list.

“Jongdae?” Yixing answered. Yixing always managed to make Jongdae feel better.

“Hyung,” Jongdae muttered, “he won’t leave, and I’m tired. It’s really hot, and I’m gross.”

“What?” Yixing said, immediately alert. “Who won’t leave?”

Jongdae startled as Minseok easily stole the phone from his hands, mouth twisting as he saw the name of the person on the line.

“Yixing?” Minseok sighed. “It’s Minseok. Jongdae has a fever and won’t let me near him. He said his arm was hurt, but he won’t let me look at that, either.”

“That’s my phone,” Jongdae muttered tiredly, wanting to reach for it but unable to find the energy.

The conversation switched from Korean to Mandarin, Jongdae only able to pick out a few words, but even then failing to translate them well in his muddled head.

“Jongdae?” Minseok said, crouching down so that they were at eye level. “He’s going to come here soon, okay? Will you at least come sit on the couch? The floor can’t be good for a fever.”

“Don’t wanna’,” Jongdae said, his muscles tense and unwilling to budge. He was already comfortable where he was.

Minseok sighed. “Don’t hate me too much, okay?”

Jongdae flailed as Minseok bodily picked him up. Taking a few steps, he quickly set Jongdae down on the couch before distancing himself once more.

“He’ll be here soon,” Minseok said again, glancing towards the door.

“Who?” Jongdae muttered, head weighing heavily on a throw pillow.

“Okay, maybe I should have just forced you to go to the doctor,” Minseok sighed, approaching again and slowly reaching a hand out to press against Jongdae’s forehead. “Shit,” Minseok cursed, looking at him worriedly.

Jongdae closed his eyes, and he was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

Jongdae groaned as his eyes peeled open, his head feeling like it was a balloon full of hot air.

He blinked, staring up at his familiar ceiling and inhaling the scent of his familiar covers. Everything was familiar, except for the fact that he couldn’t remember how he had gotten there.

He remembered the…the fight. And he remembered Minseok showing up with cake. But after that, everything was a blur of nausea and heat.

Groaning again, Jongdae sat up slowly, grimacing at his sweat-soaked shirt, which clung to his chest like a second skin. With that much sweat, his fever must have broken. He startled as he also noticed the bandage wrapped loosely around his arm. Had he injured himself?

He unwrapped it hastily, frowning at the handprint-shaped bruise lurking underneath. That was probably what whoever had wrapped it up wanted him to avoid seeing. Plain bandages did nothing for bruises, after all. Unless they were just an idiot.

So not Kyungsoo, then. Right. Of course. Kyungsoo was visiting home. So Minseok…then?

Jongdae’s legs felt shaky as he pulled his covers back and set his feet on the floor. Scrunched his toes in the carpet. Aside from the balloon sensation, he didn’t feel like he had a fever. Just dehydrated, and maybe a little anemic.

He closed his eyes briefly as a wave of dizziness set him off balance, even though he was just sitting. Okay, maybe a medium amount of anemic.

He pushed himself from the bed to stagger to the door, just a few steps and he was leaning heavily on the doorknob, which felt nice and cool under his fingers. Probably because the rest of the apartment was usually freezing.

He pulled it open with a creak, wincing as the noise grated against his ears, threatening to pop the head balloon. He was beginning to reconsider that glass of water and just go back to sleep instead.

His heart jumped as a few pairs of feet slapped against the floor, two bodies struggling to squeeze into the narrow hallway.

“Jongdae!”

“You’re awake!”

“Yeah…” Jongdae sighed, leaning against the wall. “Technically. Wait, am I really? This isn’t…you aren’t a dream, right?”

“No, dumbass,” Yixing snorted, looking far too comfortable in a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt.

“Yah, he’s sick, don’t call him that!” Minseok hissed.

As Jongdae’s eyes were finally able to focus on the two men in front of him, he couldn’t help but notice the split in Minseok’s bottom lip and the purple shadow under Yixing’s left eye.

“Did you two _fight_?” Jongdae gasped. “In _my_ house?”

“This is hardly a house,” Yixing muttered.

Jongdae inhaled deeply as his head hung low, too worn out to respond to the insult or blanch at the thought of more violence. Always more violence. “What…what’s going on?” he managed, trying to center his attention as his insides roiled. “I mean, I know that I felt bad, but…why are you two here? Together?”

“You called me,” Yixing said. “I came.”

“You were very sick last night,” Minseok said, shooting Yixing a glare. “You should go back to bed before you fall over and hurt yourself.”

“He’s not a child,” Yixing mumbled. “Despite how he fuckin’ looks.”

“Why are you even here? You’re just getting in the way!” Minseok hissed.

“Getting in the way of you taking advantage of him?” Yixing challenged.

“I told you that was a misunderstanding!”

“Hard to misunderstand a literal call for help.”

“You got him _shot_!”

“That was entirely King Baby’s fault.”

“Please stop yelling,” Jongdae whined, rubbing at his temple as a spike of pain pressed against the backs of his eyes from inside his skull.

In concert, they both moved forward in some aborted attempt at a rescue, but were prevented from fitting in the narrow hallway, shoulders clashing as two strong bodies smooshed together. Jongdae was more than a little concerned that another fist fight was imminent, pressing a hand to his abdomen in an attempt to settle his nervous stomach.

“Don’t…” he said weakly. “Look, I…let’s go into the kitchen, okay?”

Yixing was the first to listen, backing out of the way and retreating into the kitchen as Jongdae moved forward, Minseok’s hands fluttering nervously around him.

Jongdae sank stiffly into one of the kitchen chairs, immediately burying his head in his arms as the overhead light became too much. Sweat began to bead on his forehead again, reminding him of his disgustingly wet clothing. His body was buzzing with a strange frenetic energy, foot tapping against the linoleum as his fists clenched against the table top. When he was sick, he preferred to be alone. Having attention centered on him was too much, it was unnecessary, and after the night he’d had—

A familiar churn in his gut. Oh, no.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Minseok questioned. He barely had time to step out of the way as Jongdae lurched to his feet and threw up in the sink, the contents of his stomach entirely liquid and bile.

“Ugh,” Jongdae moaned. “Fuck,” he coughed, shoulders heaving as another wave of nausea shot through him. Not much came up, but he had to admit that he felt a lot better once it was out of his system.

“Feel better?” Yixing said calmly. “What do you need?”

Jongdae could only manage a grunt as he left his head hanging over the basin, not willing to risk moving before he was sure he wouldn’t gag again.

“Oh geeze,” Minseok sighed. “Where’s a maid when you need one?”

“You’re worse than Myun is, you privileged ass.”

Jongdae would have sighed in annoyance if he could get enough air in his lungs.

“A shower,” Yixing said. “Either way, staying in the bathroom is for the best. That okay with you, Dae?”

“Sure,” Jongdae said weakly. “Just…give me a minute,” he huffed, feeling pressured. “Just…”

“Take as many as you need,” Yixing said. “We’ll wait in the living room. Let us know when you’re ready.”

“What? We can’t leave him al—“ Minseok began, before being cut off. Jongdae didn’t lift his head to see what happened, taking slow breaths in and out.

His eyelids weighed heavily as he leaned over the sink on his elbows. He didn’t know how long he stood there, but he must have done it for some time, as the next thing he knew, a hesitant hand was resting on his back and prodding him awake.

“Let’s go the bathroom, okay, Dae?” Yixing said quietly. “Jongdae, you with me?”

Jongdae blinked tiredly, not entirely comprehending.

“Come on, follow me,” Yixing said patiently, supporting his weight with an arm around his waist and guiding him forward. “Just a few more steps, and we’ll get you cleaned up, you heathen.”

Yixing turned them sideways to maneuver into the hall, almost entirely bearing Jongdae’s weight by the time they stood together in the small bathroom.

Yixing frowned as he considered their setup. “It’s cleaner than I would think, for a few college students. He glanced down into the tub. “But no plug. I guess a shower’s the only option.” He sighed as he looked between himself and Jongdae.

Jongdae came back to himself a little as Yixing’s shirt pooled on the floor. “Wait, what?”

Yixing sighed as he stepped out of his sweatpants, kicking them over by his shirt. “You probably can’t smell yourself, but trust me, you need this, kid.”

“B-but,” Jongdae stuttered, face flushing. “I can take a shower by myself.” Steadfastly, he kept his eyes on the expanse of Yixing’s tanned chest, and not on his tight, black boxers that showed off the muscles of his thighs.

“See, considering that standing up straight and walking have both been problematic so far, I’m going to have to call bullshit. Besides, I’ve already seen you in the exact same state of naked, so there’s no use pretending to be a wilting flower now.”

“But—“

“Dae, please take a fucking shower,” Yixing sighed. “I’ll keep these on,” he gestured to his boxers, but Jongdae kept his eyes up. “It’s just to make sure you don’t give yourself a concussion. It’s not like I wanna’ do this any more than you do.”

Jongdae sighed, pulling at the hem of his damp shirt. Maybe it was an unreasonable feeling to have, but he couldn’t help the tinge of disappointment. Of course, why would someone as handsome and wealthy and, deep down, as kind as Yixing ever be interested in…this. “Okay, I…I see your point. But you also don’t have to help me at all if you really—”

“Shut up, kid. Do you need help getting out of your clothes?” Yixing asked, eyes settling on the floor.

“Even if I die, I’ll manage,” Jongdae muttered. “Let me at least pretend I still have some pride left in me.”

Yixing huffed, gaze wandering around the bathroom as Jongdae peeled off his uncomfortable clothes, leaving his own boxers on as Yixing had. If he took them off, it would feel…weird. Unbalanced. He would keep them on.

He startled as Yixing cursed loudly, the cold spray from Jongdae’s shower hitting him as he tried to adjust the temperature.

“Gets finnicky,” Jongdae smiled tiredly.

“It’s warm now,” Yixing said, gesturing inside the shower curtain. “Take as long as you need, I’ll just stand to the side to make sure you don’t fall. But the second the water starts getting cold, I’m throwing you out.”

“Yes, Dr. Zhang,” Jongdae muttered, wobbling as he stepped into the tub. Yixing kept his word and stepped in behind him, leaning against the wall opposite the spray, a shoulder’s length between them.

Jongdae sighed, the warm spray feeling like heaven where it brushed his skin.

“I…” Yixing began, cutting himself off.

“Hmm?” Jongdae said, running his fingers through his hair.

“I did go to medical school,” Yixing said. “Maybe it was rebellion, I don’t know. But I went. Had to quit my last year to start doing the opposite of what they teach you there.”

“Oh…” Jongdae said, turning around to face him. He’d never seen that look on the older man’s face before, a mix of sadness and longing. “I think…you would have made a really good doctor.”

Yixing stiffened, raising a hand to rub over his face. “Shut up.”

Jongdae tried to hide his smile. Yixing was embarrassed. He let out a small grunt as Yixing shoved a shampoo bottle into his chest.

“Clean up, smelly,” Yixing said.

It took more effort than Jongdae would have liked to admit, just the simple act of lathering his hair up taking a lot of energy out of him. He had to catch himself on the shower wall as it became more difficult to breathe in the heat-heavy air.

“I’ll rinse, you be still,” Yixing said.

His fingers felt nice as they combed gently across Jongdae’s scalp. “Jongdae?” Yixing said.

“Yeah?” Jongdae said, leaning into his touch.

“Those bruises look like they hurt,” he said. “Where’d they come from?”

Jongdae sighed, shoulders immediately tensing and pulse quickening. “Hyung.”

 “Someone hurt you again,” Yixing said quietly. “Maybe I should have listened to Myun, after all.”

“I can’t have this conversation in the shower.”

Yixing reached around his body to switch the faucet off. “This is good enough for now.”

“Hyung…”

“Come on,” Yixing said, stepping out of the shower and holding out his hand.

Jongdae accepted it with hesitation, climbing unsteadily out of the shower. Yixing opened a few cabinets before he found the one with towels, wrapping one around Jongdae’s shoulders before quickly drying himself off and sliding back into his clothes. Somehow, he managed to get his boxers off from underneath his clothing.

“Your room?” Yixing said.

“Yeah,” Jongdae sighed. “Oh, but, what happened to—“

“He went home,” Yixing said shortly. “Shorty was never good at dealing with problems he couldn’t fix with money. Like Myun. Except worse.”

“He never…struck me as that kind of person, though?” Jongdae said, confused. “He’s always helped me when I needed it.”

“Let’s stop talking about him,” Yixing said. “Go get changed before you get even sicker, okay?”

“But I feel better,” Jongdae complained, taking slow steps to his bedroom. “I do, honest. I think I just needed to get it all out of me.”

“Yeah, well, now it’s time to get something else out of you,” Yixing muttered.

Jongdae let the towel fall to the ground as he glanced over his shoulder. “Umm, can you…?”

“Oh,” Yixing blinked, turning his back to Jongdae as Jongdae peeled off the wet boxers, slipping into his own pajama pants and a loose shirt.

“Okay,” Jongdae sighed, sitting down nervously on his bed.

“So,” Yixing said, crossing his arms over his chest and pushing wet hair away from his eyes. “Explain.”

Jongdae chewed anxiously on his bottom lip as his eyes settled on the imprints of fingers staining his arm. “Joonmyun kidnapped my old music professor. I think you already knew that. He was…Professor Kim was…pissed. He saw me, at the bar, and…things always escalate.” Jongdae swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “He grabbed me, and I…I freaked out. Complete mental shutdown. I just…I wasn’t expecting it, you know? Hyung said…hyung promised…” Jongdae trailed off, eyes tearing up. “Then why did he have to show up?”

Yixing’s gaze hardened, something cold and calculating turning behind his eyes. “I know the answer to your question, and you aren’t going to like it.”

“What do you mean?” Jongdae whispered, chest constricting.

“There’s no way he would have shown up if Joonmyun was making sure he wouldn’t.”

“What…” Jongdae said, shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do.” Yixing smiled wryly. “You _do_ , Jongdae.”

“You’re saying…he’s responsible for this?” Jongdae whispered. “But…but _why_? Why would he do that?” _To me_ , Jongdae left unspoken.

“Now that, I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure that man out for years. I’m still not sure I have. But if there’s one thing I do know, it’s because he had a reason. There’s always a reason.”

As much as he didn’t want to, Jongdae tried his best to recall the events of the night. It had been normal, and then…and then Detective Wu had…

“Maybe it was to get him thrown in jail,” Jongdae muttered. “If Detective Wu thought that hyung was going to be somewhere, would he show up?”

“Wu Yifan?” Yixing frowned. “The asshole’s dedicated his life to taking us down, so I’d say so.”

“Then maybe hyung set it up that way,” Jongdae said quietly. “And maybe I’d have even been okay with it, if he’d told me first. I felt like I was dying. Back in that horror movie of my first year, where I was just…” he sighed.

“Where you were what?” Yixing said quietly.

Jongdae shrugged. “I don’t know. Helpless? Terrified? Worthless? Pick your poison,” he sighed bitterly.

Yixing uncrossed him arms and took a few steps forward to drop down next to Jongdae on the mattress. “Can I try something?”

“Maybe?” Jongdae said, flustered at the way Yixing was looking at him. Like he meant something. He knew it was all in his own head.

“It might hurt a bit, but I was going to see if I could massage your arm, to break up the blood under your skin and encourage new blood flow. That way you wouldn’t have to look at…this shape.”

“Oh,” Jongdae said, “okay, sure.”

Yixing slowly reached for Jongdae’s harm, holding it carefully between his hands as he examined the area. He used his thumbs to rub lightly at the darkest areas, watching Jongdae’s face for signs of discomfort.

“Ah,” Jongdae winced, as one of the thumbs pressed to harshly.

“Sorry,” Yixing muttered, easing up as he rubbed circles into the rest of the shadow fingers.

“It’s fine,” Jongdae quickly. “It’s not a gunshot wound or face stitches, after all,” he said wryly.

Yixing came to a stop in his work, hands leaving warmth behind as they retreated from Jongdae’s skin.

“So, does this count as our second one night stand?” Jongdae joked nervously.

Yixing’s eyes widened as he coughed harshly into his fist, looking away from him.

“I-I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable!” Jongdae said immediately. “Sorry, it was a stupid joke.”

“No, it…it’s fine,” Yixing said. “But this doesn’t count as a one night stand until you’ve brushed your teeth. I at least have some standards to uphold.”

Jongdae flushed.

“And breakfast,” Yixing added.

“Breakfast?” Jongdae said hopefully. “Are you…going to stay?”

“Do you want me to?” Yixing said.

“I don’t want to be alone right now,” Jongdae admitted. “But, umm, I know you’re a super important and busy person, so please, don’t feel the need to if you, umm, have something else to do, I mean…”

“I’ll stay,” Yixing said, “on one condition.”

“Which is…?”

“Breakfast is pancakes.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably a good time to remind people about the rating, just in case.

Jongdae eyed himself in the floor-length mirror, fingers smoothing creases from the expensive fabric. The lighting wasn’t doing his dark circles any favors, stress and exhaustion apparent on his face. The suit felt alien and out of place against his rough skin, the image reflected in the mirror far too dissonant with the mental image he retained of himself.

Sighing, he turned around and pushed aside the velvet curtain concealing the dressing room, peering uneasily outside, where Yixing sat playing with his phone on a leather couch. Jongdae never would have picked this place, but from the way the store employees reacted to Yixing, it seemed to be a regular stop for him. He supposed he should have expected something like this after Yixing found out about the semester-opening music show by rifling through the papers on Jongdae’s desk.

Yixing must have caught the movement, his eyes flitting upward and fixating on Jongdae’s nervously hunched figure. “It fits?” Yixing said. Neither of them had been sure there would be a stock size small enough to suit him.

“Yeah, I think so,” Jongdae said, looking down at his body. “I don’t know, though, hyung. How much is something like this? I can just buy a less expensive—”

“It’s your opening showcase. You should look expensive,” Yixing said, rising and taking a few steps towards Jongdae, who watched nervously. Their bodies were unbearably close as Yixing carefully pulled and prodded at the various pieces of the outfit, judging from an unknown criterion. His face was its usual expressionless plane, save for the occasional brow furrow. Jongdae fought back the rising tide of self-consciousness. “I think this will do. There’s not enough time to have it tailored right, but…a diamond with a flaw is worth more than a pebble without imperfections.”

Jongdae huffed. “Where do you pull all these proverbs from?”

“The internet,” Yixing deadpanned, fingers brushing the skin at Jongdae’s wrist.

The simple touch brought an involuntary shiver up Jongdae’s spine, surprising even himself with its intensity. It was impossible for Yixing not to have noticed.

“Jongdae?” the man questioned, dark eyes narrowed in askance at the goosebumps pimpling Jongdae’s exposed skin.

Jongdae shook his head quickly. He held no illusions about how the handsome man felt about him. “Sorry, I just got nervous about—about the showcase, all of a sudden.”

Yixing stared at him for another moment before nodding his head curtly. “Let’s eat.”

Jongdae changed back into his street clothes, his dark jeans with the least number of holes and one of his thickest sweaters to combat the frigid weather. Thanks to Yixing, the Christmas season hadn’t felt so lonely. Thanks to Yixing, he could keep his thoughts focused on something other than the panic and the unusually intense feeling of betrayal. 

By the time he’d left the dressing room, Yixing had already purchased the full suit, slipping his wallet into his back pocket. Jongdae would have felt guiltier if he hadn’t seen for himself how wealthy Yixing was. The tailor eyed them nervously, Yixing more so than Jongdae, but Yixing didn’t seem to pay it any mind. Yixing jerked his head to the side, indicating that Jongdae should follow him.

Yixing had picked him up with yet another different car, and Jongdae really hoped it was that he was renting them, and not that he owned a fleet of vehicles. He sat still before he noticed Yixing side-eyeing him, and he sighed before remembering to buckle up. He didn’t have his own car, and he took public transportation most places, so he hadn’t yet developed the routine.

“Merry Christmas,” Yixing muttered, keeping his eyes on the road.

Jongdae’s heart stuttered as he attempted to warm his hands by pressing them to the insides of his thighs. He ducked his head, pretending his cheeks were red from the stinging wind outside. What was he supposed to do when Yixing said things like that?

Jongdae was apprehensive that they would be eating someplace equally as extravagant as the clothing shop, his clothes not suited for high class dining, but Yixing surprised him by bringing them back to Yixing’ home. He counted not less than a dozen visible security guards at the front gate, stoic and armed. He hadn’t had the opportunity to get this view the last time he was here.

It was pleasantly warm inside, and Jongdae pushed up the sleeves of his sweater with a little grin. It felt like a luxury to be somewhere and with someone that could afford to run the heater at all times of the day. Yixing draped the suit he’d purchased for Jongdae over a chair in the living room before returning the kitchen, where Jongdae hovered uncertainly.

Yixing briefly pressed a hand to Jongdae’s arm, sparks of _something_ shooting all the way up to Jongdae’s shoulder before he retracted it. “What would you like? Rice? Noodles? Is there something that’s good for your voice?”

“You’re making dinner yourself?” Something unkind must have shown on his face, because Yixing huffed in what sounded like exasperation.

“Hundreds of people want to kill me. You think I make it a habit to eat food I _don’t_ make myself or that’s pre-packaged?” Yixing said, pulling rice out of a cabinet and ingredients from the refrigerator.

“Ah,” Jongdae blinked, nodding in understanding. To be able…no, to be _forced_ to live like that…“I guess it’s a good thing you can cook, then, hyung. The point where I have to only rely on my own cooking is the point where I think I’d just give up on life.”

Yixing shrugged. “When I can’t fucking stand it anymore, I find a diner and eat pancakes.”

Jongdae smiled. “You know, I didn’t think pancakes would be your ultimate weakness.”

Yixing glanced at him. “They aren’t.”

The breath caught in Jongdae’s throat at the series of implications Yixing’s words presented to him.

But it just couldn’t be.

Was he so delusional that he thought Yixing was talking about _him_? He had to stop making more of kindness than was intended. Otherwise, he would only get hurt in the end. Joonmyun was a prime example. Jongdae wasn’t sure either of them really understood what they were doing. It wasn’t exactly like they were socialized to be normal.

Shaking his head, he sat himself on a bar stool in front of the kitchen counter to watch. “Can I help do anything, hyung?”

Yixing silently thrust a cutting board, a knife, and an onion in front of Jongdae.

Jongdae hopped from the stool to wash his hands, then returned to it, pushing his sleeves up even further. He eyed the white vegetable with distrust and trepidation. How did Kyungsoo do it, again? With uncertain slices, he massacred the onion entrusted to him, eyes burning by the end of it. He tried to wipe at them with his forearms, but tears were already slipping down his cheeks. “Ah, man,” Jongdae sighed.

Yixing turned to look at him, lips twitching in amusement. His gaze fell to the onion, right eyebrow quirking in disbelief. “I know I didn’t give you specific instructions, but fucking hell, Jongdae.”

“Hyung,” Jongdae whined in protest. “I already told you I wasn’t good at cooking!”

The kitchen had begun to smell savory and delicious, Yixing already sautéing something in pan on an oven burner. Jongdae glanced down at the sad state of his onion in resignation.

The room went dark.

Jongdae jumped, glancing around wildly. “Hyung, what—?” He cried out as he was wrenched from his stool and dragged behind the counter, Yixing palming the knife he’d been using and raising it to the level of his chest. Yixing pressed a finger to Jongdae’s lips as he surveyed the room from his hunched position.

Jongdae couldn’t see anything except Yixing’s back, forced behind him and pressed into the base of the counter. Except for Jongdae’s anxious breathing, it was quiet.

Jongdae’s heart beat painfully against his chest as reality caught up to him.

Before Jongdae could even blink, Yixing lunged forward and embedded the chopping knife into a booted foot, black leather barely visible from their location. Twisting the knife out of its position while the intruder screamed, Yixing cut the screaming short.

Jongdae squeezed his eyes shut, too terrified to watch it happen. But he still heard the gurgle of an opened throat. Blood dripping from a blade.

Yixing moved away, steps light as a whisper against the wood floor. If Jongdae hadn’t been frozen in fear, he would have desperately held on to him. Begged him to stay. He whimpered at the violent sound of a gunshot, wrapping his arms around his knees to make himself as small as possible. He was in no hurry to get shot a second time.

A series of grunts followed the gunshot, the thunks of fists meeting flesh and heavier breathing from exertion. As long as someone was still fighting, that meant that Yixing was alive. Jongdae’s ears strained even as his eyelids pressed down more tightly.

Yet another strangled, wet scream broke through the darkness. More silence. Jongdae didn’t dare move. Was it over?

Another gunshot, and Jongdae’s heart nearly flew out of his sternum as his skin froze over.

He whimpered as a large hand pressed against his knee. “Jongdae,” Yixing said quietly.

Jongdae pried open his eyes.

Yixing was there, sweat coating his forehead and eyes wide with concern. “H-hyung—”

Something darker than the dim room moved behind Yixing’s crouching form, and Jongdae reacted without thinking, shoving Yixing to the side as a knife barely missed him, instead carving into Jongdae’s outstretched arm.

Jongdae quickly recoiled, clutching his arm to his chest as the pain lanced across his skin.

Yixing twisted himself onto his feet, grabbing the arm holding the knife and bringing it down over his knee. Jongdae heard the intruder’s bones snap in two as the knife slipped from his fingers, bile rising in his throat in revulsion. Debilitated by pain, the man wasn’t able to prevent Yixing from wrapping muscled arms around his neck and squeezing, not giving even a millimeter until the intruder was unconscious. Or dead. Jongdae wasn’t going to investigate.

Yixing pushed the body aside with disgust, dropping to his knees next to Jongdae. “That’s the second time you’ve taken a shot meant for me,” Yixing said quietly.

“Sorry,” Jongdae said, eyes watery and voice tremulous as he chewed on his bottom lip in an effort to distract himself from the pain. “I—I just, I—” He gasped as he was pulled into Yixing’s chest, the man’s arms practically crushing him as he breathed in Yixing’s scent of chocolate and oranges. Jongdae brought his own arms up to reciprocate the embrace, even over the pain. It seemed like Yixing needed it more than he did.

“Stupid kid,” Yixing breathed into his neck, fingers digging trenches into Jongdae’s back. “Shǎzi,” Yixing said, pressing him impossibly closer.

“I’m in the top third of my class,” Jongdae protested weakly, his own fingers clinging to Yixing’s shirt.

Yixing breathed him in deeply, lips brushing Jongdae’s neck as he finally pulled himself away. He reached for the hand of Jongdae’s uninjured arm, pulling him up. “Come on, we need to go. More could be coming.”

Jongdae swallowed and desperately tried to get his legs to move instead of shake with fear. Yixing pressed the bloodied knife into Jongdae’s other hand, retrieving a handgun from his waistband.

Jongdae flinched and whimpered as Yixing’s arm flung outward and fired a shot, a body dropping from the shadows of the hallway before Jongdae had even registered another presence, blood pooling underneath. His ears rang loudly from the crack of the gunshot as Yixing cursed in Mandarin, eyes flitting wildly around the room. As he pulled Jongdae towards the garage door, Jongdae managed to resist, teeth chattering as his body felt literally frozen.  

“Not the garage, that’s what they’d e-expect,” Jongdae said.

“We don’t have time to sit around here!” Yixing growled.

“Are there any exits people wouldn’t know about?” Jongdae said desperately. If he knew anything about Yixing, it was that he shared Joonmyun’s paranoia, even if it was to a lesser extent.

Yixing exhaled slowly. Pressed the hand holding the gun to his chest. “Garden. The door doesn’t look like a door from the outside.”

“Okay,” Jongdae nodded. “We’ll go outside and call for help later.”

Yixing cursed again. “If I got hit, then so did Myun.”

“We-we’ll have to worry about that after we get out of here,” Jongdae insisted, fighting back panic.

Yixing grabbed his hand again, pulling Jongdae towards the metal spiraling staircase. Instead of going up, he went under it, feeling around the wall until his fingers found what they were looking for. He pulled at a latch and the door opened outwards into the cold. Yixing peered outside, silent for a moment, until he gestured for Jongdae to follow behind him.

The chattering of Jongdae’s teeth only worsened as he stepped into the old greenhouse, nothing but empty pots and leaves scattered inside the frosted glass structure. The borrowed house slippers weren’t doing much to protect his frozen toes.

He couldn’t see outside of it, so he could only hope that no one outside could see them, either.

“Wh-where does this open?” Jongdae questioned, pressing his free hand against his still-bleeding wound. “Can we get out?”

“Maybe,” Yixing said, pulling his cell phone from a back pocket and quickly dialing a number. “Asshole, you alive?...Fuck, of course you are. Look—would you just—fucking shut up, Joonmyun! Dae’s here, and he’s hurt…The greenhouse…We’re going to head for trees, so send someone wearing something bright red so I don’t fucking shoot them.” He paused, face darkening in anger. “What the fuck do you mean, you _can’t_!? Jongdae is here! I don’t _have_ an hour! Fuck!” Yixing threw his cellphone to the ground, where it cracked into pieces.

It seemed like Joonmyun was the only person Yixing trusted to help.

Jongdae fumbled his own phone out of his pocket with fingers that were growing numb at an alarming rate. There was only one person who had enough influence to help them, if Joonmyun couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

“Dae?” Yixing said.

“I can’t—the screen—” Jongdae said helplessly as his fingers were too cold for the sensors. “Here,” he thrust the phone into Yixing’s hand. “Minseok. Call Minseok.”

“Jongdae—”

“Don’t argue!” Jongdae said forcefully.  

Yixing gritted his teeth together but found Minseok’s contact, wiping Jongdae’s bloody fingerprints from the glass. “Jongdae?” Minseok answered, breathless. That was the only bit of the conversation Jongdae caught as Yixing paced up and down the length of the greenhouse.

Jongdae let his legs give in on him, slumping to his knees and then onto his ass as the sting in his arm grew more unbearable, the adrenaline seeping away. Whatever happened, he needed to stay awake and alert, or he could get them killed.

“Dae?” Yixing said gently, hand squeezing his shoulder. “Come over here, in the corner,” Yixing coaxed Jongdae back to his feet, seemingly abandoning his former plan of making a run for the trees. He led him a few paces backwards, towards a mound of broken earthenware pots. “Come on,” he said, lowering Jongdae to the frigid ground in the darkest corner of the greenhouse.

“Is he…?” Jongdae wondered, watching as Yixing sank to his heels next to him.

“He’s sending some people,” Yixing said bitterly. “For you, he said.”

Jongdae wrapped his arms around himself, bringing his knees up as he trembled violently.

“What’s wrong?” Yixing said immediately.

“B-besides the assassination attempt?” Jongdae said. “I’m f-fucking c-cold.”

Yixing immediately shed his sweater, leaving him in only a tank top. Ignoring Jongdae’s shocked objections, he shoved the fabric over Jongdae’s head, trapping his arms inside the cocoon of wool. Despite himself, Jongdae sighed in relief, but his shivers only increased.

Yixing sat behind Jongdae, Jongdae’s back to his chest, and embraced him with one arm, the other still holding the gun and on standby for any threats that may appear. Jongdae leaned back into his chest, Yixing’s warmth overwhelming despite wearing fewer clothes.

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you were fatter,” Yixing muttered.

“I hate y-you,” Jongdae hissed.

“Then give my sweater back,” Yixing said, words belying his actions as he held onto Jongdae tighter, the latter unable to move even if he wanted to. “You’re bleeding through the fabric.”

“Ah,” Jongdae sighed, watching as the stain spread. “I don’t think I c-can a-af-ford to buy you another o-one.”

“You’ll have to pay me back some other way,” Yixing said, breath ruffling Jongdae’s hair.

“I knew you only wanted me f-for m-my body,” Jongdae said wryly. “Even though it’s not good enough for you.”

“Hey,” Yixing said lowly. “Does it feel like I don’t think you’re good enough?” He pressed Jongdae more tightly to him, and Jongdae felt it.

Despite their awful situation, despite the freezing cold, despite everything, Jongdae flushed cherry red from embarrassment even as a little heat returned to the rest of him. “H-how can you be hard in the middle of a snowstorm when people are trying to kill you!?” Jongdae said, voice cracking in mortification.

“Because you’re here in my lap,” Yixing said simply. “And endorphins are magical.”

“Yah, _that_ really makes me feel special,” Jongdae muttered bitterly.

“You are,” Yixing said, resting his chin on Jongdae’s slim shoulder. “Don’t fall in love with him, Dae,” he added quietly.

Jongdae shivered, startled by the change in topic. “Wh-who?”

A loud buzzing sounded and began to grow even louder, the panes of glass rattling in their frames. Yixing sighed. “That’ll be my cousin with the helicopter.”

“Minseok?” Jongdae clarified uneasily. “He has a helicopter?”

“That really surprises you?” Yixing said, extracting Jongdae from his hold and climbing stiffly to his feet. “He hasn’t had to spend all his money fighting one-sided wars.” Yixing sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But maybe that’s about to change.”

Jongdae didn’t bother standing up, huddling closer inside Yixing’s sweater. He convinced himself that the tears were from the onion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jun will get more chapters later, I gotta turn this thing into a real love geometric shape.


	14. Chapter 14

Jongdae’s eyes darted between Yixing and Minseok, barely feeling the sting of the doctor treating his arm with an antiseptic-soaked gauze patch as the tension suffocated the study. It was a beautiful room, with mahogany bookshelves, a large traditional desk covered in paperweights and pens, and couches and chairs upholstered in deep red leather. Jongdae felt bad for bleeding all over the cream-colored rug draped on top of the hardwood floor. As least it matched the color of the couch where he sat.

Yixing was still in his tank top, his blood-stained sweater resting in Jongdae’s lap, but the house was warm enough that he didn’t seem bothered. His sharp gaze settled on Jongdae when the doctor took a step back, bowing to the two watching men in respect. “It was a deep wound, but it seems to have clotted just fine. As long as he doesn’t use the arm for the next week, he can go without stitches. If it opens again, I would re-consider.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Minseok said, slipping an envelope from his back pocket. “For your services.”

Yixing huffed and rolled his eyes as the man bowed again, a slight tremor visible in his hands as he accepted the envelope. He opened the study doors to be met by a guard, who presumably led him outside.

“I could have handled it,” Yixing said.

“I’m not letting Jongdae’s arm rot off because you _handled_ it,” Minseok said lowly.

“I’m fine!” Jongdae interrupted quickly, fingers kneading the soft fabric of the sweater. “I’m fine, so…don’t fight, okay?”

Yixing’s eyes softened. Minseok sighed.

“What now?” Jongdae dared. “I mean…what…do we do?”

“ _We_ don’t do anything,” Yixing said coldly, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his back to Jongdae. “I’ve let this…” he sighed, shaking his head. His fingers curled into fists. “We’re going to stop seeing each other.”

Jongdae felt his heart drop into his stomach. “What?” he breathed, eyes stinging with emotion.

Yixing turned his head to look at Minseok, expression blank. “You’ll see him home?”

Minseok quirked an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“Wait, Yixing!” Jongdae protested, hopping to his feet, the sweater tumbling to the floor. He had to grip the arm of the couch to stop from falling over as the blood rushed to his head. Right, they’d never actually gotten to eat dinner.

Yixing only paused for the barest of seconds, so short that Jongdae might have been imagining it, before he was already walking through the door.

“Yixing!” Jongdae tried again, but Minseok stopped him with a light hand on his shoulder.

“You should let him go for now, huh?” Minseok said. “It’s been a long night for everyone.”

“But…” Jongdae swallowed, gaze drifting to the door. He couldn’t just let it go like this. He didn’t realize just how much it would hurt for Yixing to abandon him. Why did it hurt so much?

“Jongdae,” Minseok said softly, guiding him back to sit on the couch with a leading hand on his hip. Jongdae didn’t resist, dazed by Yixing’s sudden declaration. “Look at me?”

Jongdae hadn’t realized that he wasn’t already, thoughts clouded with what felt like static. He shook his head to clear it, meeting Minseok’s sincere expression.

Minseok cupped a hand around the back of Jongdae’s neck, squeezing his tense muscles gently. Jongdae fought back the instinctual flinch that the sudden action provoked.

Goosebumps creeped up Jongdae’s arms at the intimacy of the position, their noses centimeters apart. “You could have _died_ , Jongdae. I know…I know you like my cousin. I can see it, even if you won’t admit it. But because you were with him, it almost killed you. And it isn’t even the first time your life has been put in danger. Fuck, Dae! I _warned_ you! I—” he broke off, pulling away with a sigh.

Jongdae swallowed, guilt swelling in his chest. He wasn’t even sure what it was for, but it seemed to fill up his entire body at Minseok’s accusatory tone. “Hyung, please don’t be mad. I’m…I’m fine. I’m right here, and I’m fine.”

Minseok inhaled deeply, as though trying to calm himself down. The visible signs of his temper had Jongdae on edge, Jongdae’s fingers curling with the tension. Minseok wasn’t the kind of person who looked particularly threatening, as his face was naturally cherubic, but Jongdae was more than cognizant of the amount of muscle hidden by his clothes and the background he shared with Yixing. But, strangely enough, he had never been worried about Yixing’s temper. Maybe it was that Minseok’s temper changed so suddenly, and that made Jongdae nervous.

“Hyung?” Jongdae said hesitantly. “Maybe I should…go.”

Minseok huffed bitterly. “Always trying to get away from me, aren’t you? Just so that you can run back to him and get hurt again. What does he have that I don’t? Certainly not more money. So why is it that I’m not good enough?”

Jongdae blanched, heart feeling like it was being squeezed. “No, that’s not what I meant—”

“Why are you so _stupid_ about this?” Minseok continued, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

The words were piercing, reminding him of all the times he’d been called stupid, and worse, for not being enough. For not being perfect. Jongdae held his tongue, not wanting to escalate the situation, but it seemed like Minseok had a lot he’d been holding back.

“I know for a fact that you’re smart, because I wouldn’t have picked someone stupid! You’re so sweet, and gentle, and kind, and so fucking…” he sighed. “You’re so, so beautiful, Jongdae,” he continued, eyes earnest. “Just tell me—what do I have to do?”

“Picked?” Jongdae repeated, mind swimming with unease and confusion. “And I’m—I’m not—"

“I should be more understanding,” Minseok said quietly. “You’re practically a baby, after all. And I said I would give you time. It’s my own fault for being impatient. I’m just so worried that you’re going to get yourself killed before you see how much I have to offer you.”

“Okay, hyung, what—what are you talking about?” Jongdae managed, incredulous, panic sneaking in at the edges.  

Minseok narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Jongdae, I have everything in the world to offer you. There’s nothing I can’t buy, no door that won’t open for me. Anything, Jongdae, and I could get it for you. Any entertainment company you want, and I can have a contract in front of you. Studios would be fighting for the right to put out your music. Whatever it is, if you were with me, then—”

Jongdae huffed in disbelief. “Is that what—is that what you meant when you said you’d wait for me? That you think you’ll eventually just… _buy_ my affection?”

“That’s how the world works, Jongdae,” Minseok said patiently, as though he were speaking to a child. “Why on earth do you sound so horrified? It’s how things have always been. We both get what we want, so what’s the problem? I know for a fact my cousin and Joonmyun have been doing the same thing. You know it’ll happen eventually, even if you drag this out.”

Jongdae closed his eyes, fingernails digging into his palms. “Hyung, what do you like about me?”

Minseok frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ , tell me what you like about me, hyung.”

“Well, you—you’re so…” he fumbled. “You’re beautiful, and—and sweet, and—”

“How am I sweet?” Jongdae said bluntly.

“You…” Minseok frowned. “You just are. Why are you asking me this?”

Jongdae shook his head. “What do I like to do in my spare time?”

Minseok stood from the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. “What does that matter? You’re a singer—you sing.”

“That’s my major,” Jongdae said. “What kind of books do I like to read?”

“Jongdae, what is this about?” Minseok said.

Jongdae smiled sadly. “You don’t like me.”

“What? Of course I—”

“No,” Jongdae said. “No, hyung. You like whatever idea of me you have in your head. Some generic, perfect person you thought you could convince to love you for your money.” Jongdae tried to keep the hurt out of his voice, but he was sure some of it still slipped through. “That, alone, proves that you don’t know me at all. And how can you like someone that you don’t even know?” Jongdae reached down to pick up Yixing’s discarded, stained sweater, pulling it over his head with a pained hiss. He stood from the couch, letting himself gain his bearings before striding towards the door.

“What are you doing?”

Jongdae paused. “I’m leaving,” he muttered, “just like I should have when Yixing hyung left.” Maybe he was still in the area.

“What? Where the hell are you going to go at this time of night? You don’t have any of your belongings!”

“I don’t know,” Jongdae said quietly. “But I can’t stay here.” Not where he was just another object that Minseok wanted to collect. Not when Minseok genuinely believed that he could be bought.

“Jongdae!” Minseok commanded, but Jongdae’s hand was already turning the door knob. The guard outside must have heard Minseok’s shout, because there was a large hand gripping his arm, stopping him from moving. Jongdae whimpered as his wound was jostled, looking to Minseok for help.

“Let him go, moron!” Minseok growled. The guard quickly released Jongdae, who brought his stinging arm in close to his chest. “Jongdae…” Minseok sighed. “I can’t make you stay, but you’d really rather risk yourself out there than spend a night with me?”

Jongdae chewed on his bottom lip, heart heavy as he looked up at Minseok. It was what he should have realized all along, but not for the reasons that either Joonmyun or Yixing suspected. “I can’t…I can’t trust you, hyung.” Clutching the hem of Yixing’s sweater in jittery fingers, he made his way down the hallway.

From his vague memory of the house, he found his way to Minseok’s front door. He shivered on opening it, really not looking forward to going outside. But some part of him was screaming that something bad would happen if he stayed. Bracing himself for the wind, Jongdae buried his hands in his thin pockets and stepped onto the walkway.

He nearly fell down on the slippery pavement—twice—before he made it to the front gate, ignoring the hardened stares of the pair of guards at the entrance. Leaning heavily against the iron bars, he went to pull his phone from his pocket, only to remember that Yixing hadn’t given it back. Sighing heavily, he could only be glad that he was in an expensive neighborhood, and less likely to be mugged for the money he didn’t have.  

Despite his overwhelming need to get out of the cold, his legs would only carry him slowly, passing one house more extravagant than another as he searched for some indication of where he was. The Christmas decorations seemed to be mocking him with their cheerfulness. The helicopter hadn’t been in the air for longer than fifteen minutes, so he was probably still in the city somewhere.

He could have sworn he felt eyes on him, but he also had to admit that he was exhausted and could have been imagining things. At least, until he heard the crunch of gravel under wheels and the hum of an engine. What caught his attention was that the crunching was slow, like someone was driving to follow behind him. Unnerved, Jongdae attempted to pick up his pace, forcing his legs to move faster as the rest of his body shook.

He still heard it behind him, and he wondered if Minseok had sent someone to follow him. Just in case, he was mentally readying himself to run. “Yah!” a gruff voice shouted.

Jongdae tensed, pushing off of the balls of his feet.

“Kim Jongdae, right?”

Jongdae paused, turning to look over his shoulder. His eyes widened as they took in the patrol car, Detective Wu’s head sticking out of the window.

“D-detective?” he stuttered, teeth chattering together as he hunched in on himself. Running might still have been the better option. “Wh-what—?”

“When the richest of the assholes call about suspicious waifs in the neighborhood, the precinct sends out good looking detectives instead of officers,” Yifan said, sizing him up. “You need a ride, kid? I’m guessing you’re the waif I was called about.”

Jongdae frowned, considering. Detective Wu had both hurt and helped him. But, at the least, he was part of the police, right? Except, Jongdae had no idea how far he would go to exact his revenge on Joonmyun.

“Aish, I’m not going to do anything but take you home,” the detective said impatiently. “Did you _want_ to freeze to death?”

Jongdae chewed on his dry, cracked bottom lip, tasting blood. “I don’t h-have my k-keys…”

The detective sighed. “At least get in the car before you faint. We’ll figure it out when you can speak.”

Jongdae nodded hesitantly, shuffling forward in his frozen socked feet and house slippers. His fingers were numb where they pulled at the door handle, and eventually Detective Wu had to lean over to open it himself. He slid into the warm car with nothing short of desperation, slamming the door closed behind him and wincing as he reached his fingers towards the air vents.

“What the fuck, kid,” Detective Wu frowned, staring at him. “Is that blood?”

Jongdae nodded. “It’s j-just m-mine,” he chattered.

“ _Just_ —” Detective Wu huffed incredulously. His gaze traced Jongdae’s unruly hair, his deathly pallor, the bloodstained sweater without a jacket, the house slippers. “Kid, did something…happen to you?” he asked, an uncharacteristic gentleness present in his tone. “Did one of the rich assholes do something to you?”

“N-no,” Jongdae said. “I just…I lost my k-keys,” he repeated tiredly.

“Kid, if you need help…if you’re in trouble—”

“I’m fine,” Jongdae muttered.

Detective Wu eyed him skeptically. “I don’t buy that for one second, but I can’t make you talk. So where do you want me to drop you off, then?”

“I…” Jongdae frowned. Everyone was gone. Yixing didn’t want him. Joonmyun had been fine to let him die. Maybe he _should_ have stayed.

Detective Wu sighed heavily, eyes softening at Jongdae’s lost expression. “I guess it’s my place, then.”

Jongdae’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Relax, you’ll have company,” Detective Wu muttered.  

“But…” Jongdae said uncertainly. “Even so, I…” This all seemed like too much of a coincidence.

“Listen, I’m not leaving you out here to be the next Little Match Girl,” the detective grunted, shifting the car into Drive and pulling more fully onto the street. “Especially when it’s clear that something’s…” he glanced over at Jongdae. “Anyway, just shut up and get warm.”

Jongdae was incapable of doing anything but that, huddled in Yixing’s large sweater and letting his body ride out the spasms of trying to increase his blood flow and core temperature. He startled when the radio burst with muffled activity, but Detective Wu didn’t seem to pay it any mind. Instead of pulling into a home, the detective pulled the car into a precinct garage, and Jongdae couldn’t help but give him a suspicious look.

The detective rolled his eyes, climbing out and walking around to the other side to open Jongdae’s door. “The car isn’t mine, kid. Get out, and we’ll take my actual car to my place.”

Jongdae did as directed, following the detective with a slow shuffle as he was led to a luxurious-looking sedan. He once again settled into the seat with a huddle, shivers picking up as the detective let the car warm up, adjusting the settings to high heat. He let out an embarrassing noise as the seat under him also began heating.

“Nice, right?” Detective Wu said cheekily. “Okay, kid. We’re going to my place. Last chance for you to make up something better.” At Jongdae’s silence, he pulled out of the garage.

Detective Wu lived in a high-end apartment complex, complete with a doorman and a thousand visible security cameras. Jongdae felt out of place, but then again, he always did. As they approached what he assumed was Detective Wu’s apartment, he was surprised to find a dozing figure leaning against the door. Detective Wu sighed.

“Yah, Zitao,” Detective Wu said gruffly.

The figure startled awake and jumped to his feet, stance defensive as he blinked slowly. “Fan ge?”

Jongdae recognized him. Long legs, bleached hair, dark eyes, golden tan. “T-Tao?”

Tao frowned, confused. “Jongdae?”

“We’re not fucking tonight,” Detective Wu said. Jongdae blanched at the harsh words.

Tao looked between the two of them, hurt, clearly drawing the wrong conclusions. He sniffled as his eyes watered, and Jongdae wondered how the weepy patron at Luhan’s bar and Detective Wu were connected.

Detective Wu rolled his eyes, ushering Tao out of the way as he unlocked the door. “Well?” he said, gesturing inside.

“We-we’re _not_ —” Jongdae tried to explain to Tao. The taller man’s eyes narrowed to a scary extent as they spotted the blood on Jongdae’s sweater.

“You’re bleeding?” Tae worried.

“No, I—”

“Inside!” Detective Wu said, shoving Tao through the door by a shoulder and jerking his head for Jongdae to follow. The interior was messy, but not unlivable, with a dozen half-full coffee cups placed at various intervals and dirty plates littering the sink.

Jongdae curled in on himself as the detective and Tao seemed to be having a staring contest. “Umm?” Jongdae said.

“Do you need treatment?” Tao said, glaring at Detective Wu before turning to Jongdae.

“Even if he says no, you should check him out, anyway,” Detective Wu huffed, meandering into his open kitchen.

“Do you want to sit down?” Tao asked, ignoring Detective Wu as he lead Jongdae to the overstuffed couch.

“Sure,” Jongdae sighed, letting his knees fold as he collapsed onto the cushions.

“May I take a look at your torso?” Tao said, deeply shadowed eyes reflecting a genuine concern.

Jongdae sighed, knowing he might as well just let them see that he was treated already, or they would just keep asking about it. Slowly, he peeled off Yixing’s sweater and pushed up the sleeve of his own, where the bandage on his wrapped arm was visible and stained red. “It’s fine,” Jongdae said quietly.

Tao frowned but nodded. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Jongdae said. He flinched when an arm appeared in front of him, holding out a mug of hot chocolate.

“Relax,” Detective Wu said. Tao watched Jongdae closely.

Jongdae accepted the mug, sinking back into the cushions. His body really did not want him to be awake any longer. “You two…how…?”

“He may cry as much as it rains, but Zitao still knows enough about kicking ass to be classified as a deadly weapon,” Detective Wu said, perching on the edge of a chair.

“Police?” Jongdae said. Then paused, a sudden idea fighting its way to the surface. Tao was a regular. Detective Wu and Tao…were something. “Was…was _Tao_ why you were at the bar that night? When…Professor Kim…”

Detective Wu glanced down at his lap, enormous hands dwarfing his own mug. “Why does that matter?”

Jongdae swallowed, thinking about all the assumptions he’d made. _Joonmyun_. Just what was really going on?

He jerked awake, not even realizing that he’d fallen asleep, either for a few minutes or seconds, Detective Wu and Tao staring at him as he looked around wildly. Tao must have stolen his hot chocolate before he could drop it, reaching over to set the mug on the coffee table with several of the old ones. “It’s okay,” Tao said softly. “You can sleep.” He looked at Detective Wu. “We’ll leave you alone. The bathroom’s down the hall if you need it.”

Jongdae nodded blearily, shifting until he was pressed against the junction of the couch between the back cushion and the arm rest, head lolling to the side. Even if he wanted to get up, his body wasn’t moving for the world.  


	15. Chapter 15

He woke with the immediate feeling that everything was wrong. His body was sore, his eyes were still drooping with exhaustion, he was staring at yet another unfamiliar ceiling, but most of all, his heart _ached_ with an abiding sense of despair and loneliness that had seeped in while he was sleeping. What a way to celebrate the holiday season. His showcase was in three days.

He hissed at the pain that spiked in his arm as he sat up, mind foggy but already trying to map out his next moves. A clatter behind him had him twisting his head quickly.

“Sorry,” Tao whispered loudly, still buttoning up his shirt as he clambered through the messy kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator and frowning. “Fan ge is still sleeping, his shift isn’t until later. I was going to make us some breakfast, but it’s pretty sad in here.”

“Oh, no problem,” Jongdae said, even as his stomach protested its roaring hunger. “Really.”

“How is your wound?” Tao said, moving into the living room and sitting down on the coffee table in front of Jongdae.

“It stings, but not more than I was expecting, if that makes sense,” Jongdae shrugged. “Umm, I don’t mean to impose, but if you’re leaving, and you drive, can I get a ride with you?” What was one more lift from one more tangential stranger.

“Oh,” Tao said, narrow eyes widening. “Of course! But…” he glanced behind Jongdae. “You didn’t have any other business with Yifan?”

It seemed to Jongdae that there was an underlying question other than the one that he was asking. “Tao, I swear that us meeting last night was a total coincidence,” Jongdae tried to reassure him. “I’m not—we’re not—anything at all. In fact, I’m pretty sure he hates me. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Tao said quickly, cheeks flushing.

“I just…” Jongdae sighed. “I’m out of options. I don’t have any money, or my jacket, or my _shoes_ , and I’m pretty sure I’m never getting my phone back.” Well, Joonmyun’s phone. At least he still had his old one at home. “I wouldn’t bother you otherwise, but I…I need help,” he finally admitted, eyes pricking with a sudden surge of emotion.

“Oh…” Tao said, his own eyes watering. “Jongdae, I’m sorry…Do you want to talk about it?”

Jongdae shook his head vigorously. Even if he did want to get something off his chest, under his circumstances a police officer would never be at the top of his list for confessions. “No! No, I…I just need a ride. Please.” Hopefully his landlord or someone in the front office would be wiling to let him back into the apartment before Kyungsoo got back and yelled at him for leaving everything so messy. Maybe not yelled. Maybe a penetrating glare or two.

“Okay, well…” Tao swallowed. “I’ll go borrow some of Fan ge’s socks for you to wear. There’s no way you’re fitting in his shoes, but they should warm your feet up a bit, at least.”

Jongdae was too exhausted to argue, sighing in resignation as Tao moved stealthily into what he assumed was Detective Wu’s bedroom. A caffeine-withdrawal headache pressed sharply at his temples. They made an odd pair, but at least Tao seemed happy with the arrangement.

After pulling on the stolen pair of thick wool socks, he followed Tao to the parking garage, where he slid into a beat-up car that Tao seemed embarrassed about. “I don’t even own a car,” Jongdae pointed out. “I’m wearing dirty house slippers and a blood-stained sweater. Really, this is great. Thanks for the ride.”

Jongdae was so tired that he didn’t even feel guilty that Tao had to drive out of his way to drop him off. He nodded in and out of consciousness after Tao programmed his address into his phone, not even the thunks of his head hitting the window waking him up. It took Tao several seconds of shaking him gently by the shoulder to get him to climb out of the car and offer an unsteady bow in gratitude.

Before he drove away, Tao shuffled through some papers in his back seat before tearing something off of one of them. It looked like the bottom of an email, but just the signature block, with Tao’s contact information listed below his name. “Please, call me if you need anything. I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know that it’s getting you hurt. I won’t even tell Fan ge if you don’t want me to.”

“Oh, thanks…” Jongdae said hesitantly, accepting the paper. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other when I’m at work.”

“Right,” Tao nodded. “See you around.”

Jongdae’s shoulders slumped as he dragged his feet into the building, fully aware that he looked like a crazy person. He veered to the right, where the apartment leasing office sat in a cramped corner. Squinting his eyes, he looked through the dirty glass door and spotted a woman typing at an old computer. If he remembered correctly, she was the one who’d been around when he and Kyungsoo signed the lease, so hopefully she would remember him, too.

He pushed open the door lightly, coughing low in his throat. The woman looked up at him with a flash of irritation. “Can I help you?” she said.

“Yeah, sorry, I locked myself out of my apartment, and my roommate doesn’t get back for a little while. Would it be possible for you to unlock it for me?” Jongdae held his breath in hopeful anticipation.

The woman was silent for a moment, narrowing her heavily lined eyes in judgment. “There’s a fifty thousand won unlock fee,” she finally said.

Jongdae blanched. Fifty thousand won for _what_? “That—that’s fine. Please.”

She reached into her desk and pulled out what looked like a universal set of keys, Jongdae frowning at how unsecure they were kept.

When he was finally let in, he sighed in relief, resisting the urge to throw himself onto the couch and pass out. It was getting to the point where even he knew he had to eat something, or risk fainting for real. He rubbed at his arms as he approached the refrigerator, frowning at the chill of the apartment. The more expensive heating bill might be worth it, just the one time.

He sighed, knowing already that he wouldn’t actually do anything.

The quickest and easiest meal to make was cup noodles, which were luckily calorically dense. As the water heated to a boil, he found himself practically salivating over the thought and the warmth. He poured the water over the dried noodles and seasoning with pathetically shaky hands, quickly setting a book on top of the lid to let the noodles soak up the water.

He sighed again as he sat there in silence. Kyungsoo and rest of his friends would be home in the next day or two. Yixing and Joonmyun seemed to have abandoned him. Minseok thought of him like an object. Someone had almost killed him. Again.

He felt something inside of him bubbling to the surface, wanting so badly to erupt. To break. To release some tension. His fingernails dug indentations into his palms. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm his racing heart down, but it only seemed to focus that feeling. Anger. His disposability made him _angry_. Maybe it was because of how true it was.

In the grand scheme of things, he was nothing. He meant nothing. How fucking dare they force themselves into his life, and just when he starts to care, unilaterally decide that he isn’t worth the effort anymore?

He pushed himself from the table, closing his eyes as blood rushed to his head. Shaking it off, he stomped into his bedroom and yanked open his desk drawer, where the two checks rested under a pile of sheet music. He was disposable, was he? Well so was their money.

He searched his room for his old phone, which had been turned off and shoved in the back of his dresser. Waiting impatiently as it slowly booted up, he had a moment to reconsider his options. The ever-present guilt welled up in his chest. But the anger quickly beat it back down again.

Once his phone was up and running, he downloaded his bank’s banking app and logged in with his credentials. He knew he was doing something wrong, but for some reason, the anger began to turn into a perverse sort of excitement. They _owed_ him this, at least, didn’t they?

Flipping through a few different screens, he finally found what he was looking for. Pointing the low-quality camera of his phone at the checks, he snapped a few pictures and waited anxiously while the app processed the information. His bank account updated, from exactly one million and two won to thirteen million in the span of a few seconds. Before he could let his conscience talk him out of it, he used the first check to pay off his tuition for the semester. He used the second check to pay the next five months of rent for both himself and Kyungsoo. And that quickly, he was back down to one million five hundred thousand won.

Jongdae exhaled shakily, stomach still screaming and demanding attention. With much less energy than he had expended in his angry, impulsive tirade, he shuffled back into the kitchen and sat down at the small table. The noodles were ready. Merry Christmas.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Jongdae hyung,” Kyungsoo called from the hallway.

“What?” Jongdae shouted back, fiddling nervously with the knot on his tie.

“Who does this blood covered sweater belong to?” Kyungsoo said.

“Erg—” Jongdae swallowed. “That’s ketchup! And it—it’s mine!”

A prolonged silence. “Okay.”

Jongdae sighed, rubbing his sweaty hands against his recently ironed pants. They were looser than he had expected, considering he’d bought them in high school. He’d had to use one of his old suits, of course nothing like the nice one Yixing had—

He closed his eyes, expelling that thought from his brain. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he went to wait in in the living room as Kyungsoo scoured the apartment for his favorite pair of socks, the ones he always wore to performances. After a few minutes, Kyungsoo appeared from his bedroom, so Jongdae assumed he had found them.

At times like this, it just felt like they were kids playing dress up.

“We’re meeting everyone at the music hall, right?” Jongdae said, more to break the silence than to have the information confirmed.

“Mmm,” Kyungsoo said, brow furrowed in apprehension. As much as he liked to bother Jongdae about his nerves, Jongdae knew that Kyungsoo cared deeply about his own performances. “I don’t know if the kids are going to make it, though.”

Jongdae offered him small smile. “I’m sure Jonginnie wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Shut up,” Kyungsoo deadpanned.

Jongdae still hadn’t told Kyungsoo about the rent. He was honestly hoping he could just handwave it when Kyungsoo did find out.

The walk to campus was freezing, so cold that Jongdae felt his nose hairs freeze a few seconds after stepping outside. He wrapped an arm around Kyungsoo’s, and though the other man looked as though he would protest, he eventually swallowed it down, as he too must have been horribly cold.

Chanyeol and Baekhyun met them by the backstage entrance, Baekhyun in a suit and Chanyeol dressed casually. The concerts for musicians were always later in the semester, but Jongdae, Baekhyun, and Kyungsoo each had to sing a prepared piece. The dress rehearsal had been earlier in the day, but wearing the suit made it feel much more real. There were a few dozen other students there, most of whom they all recognized, as they shared most of the same classes.

“It’s been forever!” Chanyeol cried, wrapping his arms around both Jongdae and Kyungsoo in one fell swoop of his monstrous wingspan.

Jongdae bit his tongue holding back the whimper that arose from jostling his arm. “It’s been two weeks,” Kyungsoo said, throwing an arm off.

“Forever!” Chanyeol agreed.

“What are you doing back here, anyway?” Jongdae questioned, letting Chanyeol’s warm hand linger where it pressed into his shoulder.

“Well, Baek was nervous, so—”

“Was not!” Baekhyun protested sharply. “Shut the fuck up!”

Chanyeol just smiled happily, even over the scolding. “Good luck, guys! But honestly, we all know you don’t need it! You’ll all do great!”

Jongdae’s body felt warmed by the words alone. He didn’t deserve Chanyeol as a friend.

“I better go back to my seat, before the kids decide it’s not worth saving.”

That perked Kyungsoo up. “Jongin and Sehun are here, too?”

Chanyeol tilted his head in confusion. “Did you think they’d miss it?”

“Well, yeah,” Kyungsoo said. “It’s not exactly a party.”

“Then we should throw one afterwards if they can stay well-behaved,” Chanyeol laughed. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Kyungsoo was slated to start the show, and Jongdae felt bad for his classmates. Kyungsoo’s soulful, smooth voice was hard to follow by anyone’s standards, and made good, technically perfect voices sound lackluster in comparison. Baekhyun’s beautiful, emotionally textured rasp was scheduled somewhere in the middle, and by pure luck of the draw, Jongdae was second to last.

The murmur of the audience grew louder as time passed, but as this was an optional event, it never reached particularly high volumes. He let Baekhyun cling to his hand as the show began, told Kyungsoo to break both legs, and practically vibrated with energy as he attuned his hearing beyond the thick curtains of the stage.

Kyungsoo was perfect, like usual, and Jongdae felt hypnotized by the thick, syrupy tone of his song. As a stage hand gestured frantically for the next performer to go onstage, Jongdae realized that they had performers exiting on the other side when they were done, meaning he wouldn’t get the chance to praise his friends after they were finished.

One by one, people filtered out looking as though they were meeting death on the other side of the curtain. Jongdae was pretty sure Baekhyun had crushed a few of his hand bones.

When it was finally his turn, Jongdae took a deep breath before pushing himself out onto the stage. His heart was racing, his palms sweaty, and his fingers twitching, but he couldn’t help the grin that escaped his inner turmoil when all of his friends cheered loudly, including Baekhyun and Kyungsoo, who’d found seats next to the others after their performances.

Jongdae centered himself in front of the microphone, and before he had time to think, his musical accompaniment was playing over the sound system. He could only open his mouth and sing, training and instinct taking over as he began softly and then began to belt, putting all of his pain and frustration into the notes.

Why was it that people always treated him like trash? Why was it that he let himself be walked over, time and time again? Why did the thought of never seeing Yixing again hurt so much?

When he was done, he was surprised to find his own cheeks wet with emotion. Remembering to bow, he hurried from the stage, waiting until he was on the descending stairs to wipe at his eyes. He didn’t know what had come over him. Regardless, it felt good to sing it out.

He took a moment to gather himself together before making his way to the bottom. A few chairs were stacked together against the wall, and something about them caught his attention. A white box was situated on one of the seats, long and narrow and with “Kim Jong Dae” printed in bright red letters over the top, along with a little card.

Jongdae was more confused than anything else. Did one of his friends do this to make him feel better? He stepped towards the box, reaching out to crack open the little card.

_We’ll see how long you can last in this world without me to protect you._

Jongdae felt his heart sink into his stomach, all earlier elation gone and replaced with fear. Who…who would send something like that? They had to know about the showcase. They likely also had to know the order of performers. He had the unpleasant feeling that Minseok was responsible, still angered by Jongdae’s rejection.

More importantly, what was in the box?

He knew he shouldn’t open it. With such an ominous, threatening note, he knew that nothing good could come from opening it. But still, he found his unsteady fingers reaching for the lid. Though he was ready to jump away at a moment’s notice, he felt even more confused at the revelation.

A single purple flower lay nestled inside, with rounded, overlapping layers of petals. He let his fingers touch its soft surface, surprised at how innocuous it was. He’d been expecting something…poisonous…and alive.

“Jongdae?” Chanyeol’s loud voice called, and Jongdae jumped in surprise, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Don’t do that!” Jongdae whined.

“What’s this?” Chanyeol asked slyly, spotting the box and the flower. “Secret admirer?”

“Umm, it’s nothing, I just found it—Chanyeol!” Jongdae protested, attempting to stop Chanyeol from reading the card. Of course, he was no match for Chanyeol on his best day, and was unable to snatch it away. Chanyeol’s expression darkened.

“What is this?” Chanyeol demanded.

“I don’t know, there’s no name,” Jongdae sighed. “It’s probably…just a prank, or something.”

“Dae, this…” Chanyeol shook his head, pulling out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Jongdae questioned anxiously, worried that he was telling everyone else. After a few moments, he handed Jongdae his phone, and Jongdae looked down at the screen. “Anemones mean…anticipation,” Jongdae said quietly, reading the chart of flower meanings that Chanyeol had searched for.

“I really don’t like this,” Chanyeol shook his head. “Jongdae, is there something going on that you haven’t told us?”

Jongdae frowned, swallowing the bile that rose in the back of his throat. “It’s just a prank,” he insisted quietly. He couldn’t drag his friends into this. No way. “Let’s go throw that party, huh?”


	16. Chapter 16

“When I said I wanted to try something different, this isn’t exactly what I—”

“Shh!” Baekhyun huffed, brush poised over Jongdae’s right index finger. “I’m concentrating!”

Jongdae sighed in resigned amusement as Baekhyun carefully applied a second layer of black nail polish to his uneven nails where he spread his fingers on the kitchen table. He had to admit that his normally hyperactive, squirming friend did great work when he put his mind to something. He was, however, questioning the DIY bleaching that was currently burning his semi-damp, blow-dryer warm scalp.

“It smells like someone actually cleans this apartment,” Kyungsoo said, nose scrunching up in displeasure.

“You know what? You two can fuck off if you’re going to keep complaining when I’m just trying to help with what _you_ asked me to,” Baekhyun said, annoyed, screwing the cap back onto the nail polish bottle.

“No, I—I’m sorry,” Jongdae said remorsefully. “I’m just nervous. I’ve never done something this, you know, drastic before.” It took a lot to not flinch when Baekhyun touched his head from behind, but he trusted his friend.

“Out with the old, in with the new,” Baekhyun said. He hesitated as he rested a hand on Jongdae’s forearm while the nails dried. “I’m not wrong to think that…you guys broke up, right?”

Jongdae winced (maybe partially because his head was on fire), but ultimately nodded. That was probably the best equivalent that he could come up with. He hadn’t heard from any of the three in weeks, and Joonmyun had stopped his grocery deliveries. “He was an asshole,” Jongdae muttered.

Baekhyun snickered. “It’s been like a million years since I’ve heard you insult anyone, Dae. So spill. What’d he do?” Kyungsoo looked over at them with an unusual amount of interest.

Jongdae smiled weakly. “You were right. It’s impossible that someone like him could like someone like me.”

Baekhyun sighed. “Again, you _know_ I didn’t mean it like that, and he doesn’t deserve you if he’s even remotely an asshole. If anyone deserves their Prince Charming, it’s definitely you, Dae. And even if he’s rich as fuck, fuck him.” He pressed the screen of his phone to check the time. “Okay, time to tone this bitch.”

“What? There’s _more_?” Jongdae whined.

“Unless you want your head to look orange, we gotta work on it,” Baehyun said, shuffling them to the bathroom, where bleach, developer, and little cups of dye were spread over all surfaces.

“But my head is literally on fire,” Jongdae groaned. He might prefer getting shot to the sensation of ants chewing up his scalp. 

“Beauty is pain,” Baekhyun sang sweetly.

Kyungsoo laughed out loud when Baekhyun peeled off layers of plastic wrap to reveal that Jongdae’s hair was actually a blonde-orange monstrosity. Jongdae could only sigh as Baekhyun rinsed his hair a bit in the sink and then began to apply purple, blue, and green-toned liquid to what seemed like fried strands. “It’s all basic color theory,” Baekhyun explained. “We want to neutralize the ugly colors to give you something ashy and cool-toned.”

“I’m trusting you on this,” Jongdae said, closing his eyes and shivering as the cool liquid seeped down to his scalp. “If I still have hair when this process is complete, we’ll call it a win.”

After hours of Baekhyun being unsatisfied and touching and re-touching his hair, he seemed to reach an acceptable result. “Well?” Baekhyun said pointedly, turning off the blow-dryer and positioning Jongdae in front of the mirror. “I’m a genius, right?”

“Wow,” Jongdae breathed, blinking slowly and reaching up to touch his now ashy-blonde head. “I’m…I honestly didn’t think this would even look good, but—”

“Genius,” Baekhyun repeated, smiling to himself. “You look like the front man of a rock band now, you little rebel.”

Jongdae huffed, still mesmerized by his new look. “You in particular don’t have the right to be judging my rebelliousness, or my size for that matter.”

“Oh, whatever,” Baekhyun waved off. “Regardless, we can get you a better, hotter man now.”

“That’s not really high on my priorities list…” Jongdae sighed.

“Argh, okay, fine, whatever, we’ll just get Sehun to let you hang off his arm and call it a day,” Baekhyun grumbled. Jongdae grimaced at the thought while Baekhyun and Kyungsoo laughed.

“It looks good, hyung,” Kyungsoo added softly.

From the bathroom, they heard a muffled knocking from the front door. “It’s probably Chan,” Baekhyun supplied. “I mentioned what we were doing, and he said he might stop by.”

Jongdae’s stomach took that moment to growl loudly, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Whether it was the reduced bodily stress from the three staying away, or the increased academic stress from the start of classes, he’d started to have significant appetite growth, which was probably for the best considering it was getting colder and colder every day. “Any chance he brought food?”

“Let’s ask!” Baekhyun said, stepping around Jongdae and heading for the door.

Chanyeol was wrapped up tightly in his coat and wool scarf, shivering even as he grinned brightly and proffered a large pizza box. “There was a sale,” he said, stepping inside and unwinding the fabric from around his neck. “I thought about getting two, but I wasn’t sure if you would be hu—” he faltered, eyes finding Jongdae.

“Ugh, hi,” Jongdae said shyly.

“Wow,” Chanyeol said, eyes widening. “You look…”

“Blonde?” Jongdae offered.

“Good. You look good,” Chanyeol grinned.

“Excuse me, but I take full credit for this artistry,” Baekhyun said, reaching out to pull at one of Chanyeol’s large hands with both of his own. “Praise me!”

“You did a good job, too, Baek,” Chanyeol laughed, using his free hand to mess with Baekhyun’s hair.

Jongdae grabbed for the pizza box, setting it on the kitchen table and pulling out a piece. It was a little cold, probably from the weather, but his stomach didn’t mind as he quickly wolfed it down, the hungry edge satisfied at least for the moment. Jongdae knew that his friends would have made fun of anyone else for eating that fast, but they must have been conscious of the fact that Jongdae probably needed the calories.

“We should do something fun,” Baekhyun said. “To show off Jongdae’s hair.”

“Like what? It’s freezing outside,” Kyungsoo pointed out.

“It’s basically freezing in here,” Baekhyun said wryly. As Jongdae reached for another slice, he listened to Baekhyun and Kyungsoo debate the merits of attempting to go out, Chanyeol not seeming to care either way. “Well, what about the mall?” Baekhyun proposed. “We’re all broke as shit, but it’s warm, and they have free ice skating.”

Chanyeol perked up at that, looking down at Kyungsoo with baleful eyes. Kyungsoo sighed, but eventually caved, unable to resist The Eyes. As he retrieved his phone to text the kids, Baekhyun sifted through the pile of coats at the door and put on his own over his thick sweater. Jongdae pretended not to notice as Chanyeol’s hand settled on Baekhyun’s lower back, rubbing it softly.

Swallowing the remains of the pizza slice, he shoved the box into the refrigerator and moved to put on his own jacket, still too thin to really be comfortable. Luckily, Kyungsoo had gifted him a hat and gloves after he’d returned from the break, and they did a lot in helping him to stay warm.

Despite the frigid temperatures, the mall was still bustling with people. After asking silent permission with grabby hands, Sehun clung to Jongdae as they navigated the crowd, mumbling excitedly over his new hair. He ran slow, deliberate, warm fingers through the blonde strands and admired his painted nails. The stitches on Jongdae’s arm had healed enough to where they weren’t painful to the touch, just itchy.

“He only ever gets this touchy with you,” Chanyeol said. “Won’t even look at me.”

“Jongdae hyung is cute,” Sehun said bluntly in his characteristically flinty tone.

Chanyeol spluttered, “And I’m not?”

“No,” Sehun deadpanned, dragging Jongdae away a good ways away to look at something in the window of a Burberry store. Jongdae sighed as his eyes raked over the coat worth millions of won, imaging how the fabric would feel. Maybe the mall wasn’t such a good idea, when he would just feel envious the whole time.  

“Do you want that, hyung?” Sehun said.

“Ah,” Jongdae shook his head quickly. “No, I…I can’t afford something like that, Sehunnie, but it’s okay. I have you to warm me up,” Jongdae smiled.

Sehun grinned and wrapped his arms around Jongdae’s slim shoulders.

The door to the shop was pushed open, and Jongdae felt ice crawl through his veins at the familiar handsome features that appeared. Joonmyun didn’t notice him immediately, but he was hard to miss when he had a large, striking boy trying to absorb him into his own body. Out of everyone in Seoul, he had to meet one of the four people who could make him miserable.

Joonmyun’s eyes widened as they found Jongdae, and then narrowed as they also noticed Sehun. Jongdae wanted to scoff. He had no right to feel anything at all, much less jealously. “Jongdae…” Joonmyun said softly.

“Let’s go find the others,” Jongdae said to Sehun, swallowing thickly as he made to leave.

“Jongdae, wait,” Joonmyun said, stepping closer to them.

Sehun let go of Jongdae and stood defensively between them. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I’d like to hear that from him, if you don’t mind,” Joonmyun said patiently.

Jongdae sighed, closing his eyes. It was clear that Joonmyun wasn’t going to let this go easily. And maybe…maybe he could finally get a little closure. “Sehunnie, I’ll meet you in a minute, okay? Just, umm…it won’t be long. I’ll be okay.”

Sehun frowned. “But hyung—”

“It’s okay,” Jongdae repeated. “We’re just going to talk.”

Sehun sighed, shaking his head in displeasure. “Okay, but I’ll be…right here,” Sehun insisted, crossing to the other side of the path and not budging.

“I’m glad to see you’re doing well,” Joonmyun said softly.

“Are you?” Jongdae questioned, words shockingly bitter.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means…” Jongdae exhaled. “It means…why didn’t you care, hyung? I was bleeding out, and I was so scared, and…you didn’t come. And—” And Professor Kim, the worst of his nightmares. He was still unsure of Joonmyun’s role in that.

Joonmyun frowned severely. “Yixing was there taking care of you, I knew he could—”

“We both could have _died_ , hyung,” Jongdae interrupted. “And you would have let us.”

“That is _not_ what happened,” Joonmyun insisted, stepping even closer as his voice lowered. “I had to take care of my people, Jongdae. You are important to me, but so is my responsibility to my family. They have to come first.”

“And after?” Jongdae said, suppressing a spike of pain. “You always just…disappear.” It always hurt more than it should.

“I thought—” Joonmyun cut himself off. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I apologize. I was wrong.” His eyes trailed down to Jongdae’s neck. “And you…you’re still wearing my necklace?”

“I have to go,” Jongdae said hurriedly.

“Jongdae,” Joonmyun said, reaching out to brush Jongdae’s hand but not attempting to grab any part of him. “I truly am sorry.”

“So what?” Jongdae whispered. “So what if you’re sorry? After ignoring me for weeks, you’ve decided I’m worth talking to again?”

“After taking care of significant company business and seeing you again, I’ve realized that I miss you,” Joonmyun corrected. “And I _did_ send you texts! You never answered me!”

“Yeah, well, Yixing doesn’t feel the same way,” Jongdae said, uncertain. “And…messages?” It would make sense if he’d never seen Joonmyun’s texts, as his phone was lost to an assassination attempt.  

A twitch of irritation flashed through Joonmyun’s expression. “Jongdae…baby…” he said softly. “You can’t forgive me?”

“I…” Jongdae hesitated, swallowing. “I don’t know, I—”

“Jongdae, I’m so sorry,” Joonmyun repeated, curling his fingers around Jongdae’s. “If I thought that your life was truly at risk, of course I would have been there. I’ve been incredibly busy with my company, but I will make time for you. If you forgive me, I promise I won’t disappear again. I’ll message you every day.”

“I lost your phone,” Jongdae said, dazed.

“I’ll buy you another one,” Joonmyun said immediately.

“I, umm…” Jongdae breathed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” Joonmyun smiled sadly. “I…that’s fair. I—I like what you’ve done with your hair. You look beautiful, Jongdae.”

Jongdae flushed instantly, sure that his face was tomato red. “Thanks…” he muttered, glancing back at Sehun, who had his arms crossed aggressively over his chest. “I should go.”

“I’ll have it sent to your apartment, then,” Joonmyun said. “Speaking of, that wasn’t exactly the investment I had expected you to make, but I respect your responsible nature.”

If it were possible, Jongdae would have flushed even deeper. “I—I didn’t mean, I—”

“It’s fine,” Joonmyun said, shrugging. “As far as I was concerned, it was your money.”

“Hyung,” Sehun called impatiently.

Jongdae looked down at his black-coated nails, playing with his fingers. “I’ll see you around, then?”

“You will,” Joonmyun said. The man nodded to Sehun before leaving, disappearing into the crowd. Sehun rushed over towards him, whining when Jongdae flinched at his reaching hands.

“Are you okay, hyung?” Sehun questioned, looking him over. “He wasn’t mean, was he?”

Jongdae blinked a little wetness from his eyes and gathered enough energy to smile at Sehun. “No, it was fine. Let’s find everyone else, huh? If we can, I mean. Geeze, this place got crowded.”

Fortunately, it wasn’t difficult to spot Chanyeol’s and Jongin’s towering forms, making fun of Baekhyun for buying a bag of pink candy from a candy store. Kyungsoo stood to the side, looking at his phone disinterestedly, though Jongdae was sure he was paying attention. “Where the fuck were you?” Baekhyun complained. “Australia?”

Jongdae glanced at Sehun nervously. “We were just window shopping,” he lied, ignoring Sehun’s offended look.

“Well, come on, let’s go skate,” Baekhyun said, shoving a few candies into his mouth.

“You okay?” Chanyeol questioned, giving him an appraising look.

“Fine,” Jongdae said, mouth dry. Sehun sighed, lower lip jutting out in protest. “Just a little tired. I think all the hair dye fumes are getting to me,” he joked.

Because what was he supposed to make of Kim Joonmyun? Was he supposed to feel sad? Happy? Disappointed? He didn’t have any idea. He reached his hand up to curl around the little musical note Joonmyun had given him. Regardless of his feelings for the man, it was a beautiful piece, and Jongdae enjoyed owning and wearing it.

Part of him never wanted to talk to Joonmyun again. After all, it was likely that he would just leave again, no matter what he promised. And Jongdae was really tired of being hurt. In general, just really tired of hurting. Not to mention, could he really trust Joonmyun? Could he really be sure that the other man wasn’t the cause of most of his problems?

But another significant part of him liked the attention that Joonmyun showed him. He liked the stupid pet names and the gifts, even though he knew he didn’t deserve them and that they should make him uncomfortable.

He shivered as they approached the skating rink, the air cold and ringing with the shrieking laughter of both children and adults. They lined up at the skate rental booth, Jongdae blushing when the attendant had to dig around before finally finding his size in the kids’ section. “Shut up,” he whined, threatening Baekhyun with the sharp edge of a skate blade.

As soon as he had his skates on securely, Baekhyun hooked an arm around on Jongdae’s and dragged him to the rink, cackling when Jongdae nearly fell down as soon as his skates hit the ice. Jongdae had his revenge when Baekhyun was tripped up by an elementary school student. After a few laps around, Chanyeol zoomed by them unsteadily, stealing Baekhyun from Jongdae’s iron grip. Jongin and Sehun moved effortlessly and even performed a few stunts as Kyungsoo clung uneasily to the wall.

Jongdae couldn’t help but smile at everyone’s antics, chest feeling light for the first time in a while. He told himself that it didn’t have anything to do with the possibility of reconciling with Joonmyun.

He was pathetically tired after a short while, wishing he’d eaten more of that pizza. Shuffling to the entrance gate, he found the free end of a wooden bench and collapsed onto it, feet weighing a thousand kilograms. As he loosened the laces, he got a strange feeling on the back of his neck. Glancing around, Jongdae didn’t notice anything particularly out of place. He finished loosening the laces and took his feet out of the skates, wiggling his toes which were glad for their freedom.

As he reached down to make the discarded skates neater, he was surprised to find a pair of feet standing directly in front of him. Jongdae looked up quickly, tilting his head in askance. The person was a middle-aged man in a neat suit, thick black hair parted to the side and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his thin nose.

“Excuse me,” the man said, reaching into his jacket. The motion startled Jongdae before he realized that the man was retrieving a business card. “I’m an agent for an entertainment company, and I couldn’t help but notice your…look,” he said, dragging his eyes up and down that made Jongdae uncomfortable. He held out the card, and Jongdae accepted it with hesitation. “We’ve been searching for someone like you. Do you have any entertainment skills, by chance?”

“I, umm, sing?” Jongdae said, still unsure of the situation.

“Perfect!” the man said enthusiastically. “I had a good feeling about this. Listen, kid, if you give me a call, then I can guarantee that you’ll get past the first round of auditions without a hitch.”

“Auditions?” Jongdae repeated dumbly.

“To be an idol, of course,” the man sad. “You want your voice to be heard by the entire country? Here’s your chance. Think about it.”

“Is this a joke?” Jongdae questioned with a frown.

“Dead serious,” the man said.

“But why me?”

“I told you, kid. You’re what we’re looking for right now. Even better if you have skills. This could make your career.” With a wink, he turned from Jongdae and went back to monitoring the skating rink.

Jongdae looked down at the card, with a prominent company name and number displayed on it. Was this…for real? Did he just get _scouted_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this thing...is so long...and will only get longer...............(that's what she said)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love this story with all my heart, but in light of recent events, I can no longer update it in this fandom (see my tumblr for details/reasoning). I've struggled with this decision, which is why I haven't updated in a million years, but it's the only right thing to do. I'm going to repost an edited version as an original story, and the only real substantive thing that will change is everyone's names. If you would like to see it to its completion, please feel free to follow that story, which I will post to a link to here as soon as I have it up.

See chapter summary above.


	18. Chapter 18

Story will now be updated here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778350

I'm leaving this version up until everything is transferred.

**Author's Note:**

> I answer messages at freebullets.tumblr.com


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